Your airplane speaks to me from far above
the skies and revels now from white to blue,
leaving the nest by my swift shove.
Know my intentions wish fortune by you.
So soar on high; ignore my fretting looks
that gaze upon, to speak my troubled mind.
Indulge attention, due rightly on books,
and sculpt your wings with what else you can find.
Echo, reverberate through open air
and leave behind an empty sky;
the loveless lonely lonesome I
will still look up when you're not there.
Your airplane speaks from up above—so proud
and solace lies in that it once spoke loud.