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Just above the dark and bitter clouds is the sun.

My plane is stuck in the clouds.


Where everything is bright with summers glow.

My plane is stable and secure below.



Everyone waits for the rise above a sea of fog. 

My plane sits still, hidden by smog. 


It's dark and damp with winter's cold.

My plane is flying ever so bold.


Once it splits the blanket of grey,

My plane soars high throughout the day. 


What goes up must come down.

My plane eases, cautious to the ground. 


Everyone wonders, what holds steady still?

My plane has dedication, integrity, and will.





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What a happy poem! Kinda made me think of an airplane pull up on the runway with a smile on his face

Comment was last edited about 7 years ago by wickedwahine_69 wickedwahine_69
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