Where the fair heavens meet mortal dust
Lied a blanket of nebulous sky.
There, a lady dared her engines thrust,
Tried to fly her crystal wings up high.
Her name is Amelia Earhart,
But pray the pronoun not gull the tone.
“I myself had to fly!” she impart,
And soared through the Atlantic alone.
Despite stormy clouds and biting clime,
Family unrest and peers’ slant eyes,
She set to test the shackles of time,
And was crowned the Princess of the Skies.
To leave Earth behind to glide and spin,
And feel the warmth of placid blue skies.
To feel the thrill that flight fires within,
And share a place among the fireflies.
To earn the right to call the clouds home,
And confront the red glare of the sun.
To have the blessing through heavens, roam,
And seize the day, a tacit bet won.
Upward bound with her free wings support,
She hummed the hymn of unfathomed space.
“Lady of the skies,” as news report,
Who claimed the heavens as her own place.
Her tune mixed with the call of sheer air
Silently makes a song not construed.
Yet the sounds of both resonate clear
The pitch of a divine dream come true.
She danced with the recalcitrant winds,
And brushed across all the mountain tops,
And in her record voyage, begins
A new age when quondam custom drops.
The future built from ritual mold’s blight
Is shaped by the cast of her own might.
Having drank the air and breathed the light,
She reached the heavens then out of sight.
AE vanished, having staged her dream,
But I stand earthbound in her shadow
And must muster my own self-esteem,
Evoke fancied silver wings below.
I, too, will greet the heavens hello,
Once I cast my own dashing shadow.