Tonight Big Frank watched planes coming in to land. It is an almost surreal sight, especially if the planes are visibly lined up. In the fog as they descend from the clouds they almost float in, one after another. It is such a beautiful sight, and one wonders if those passengers inside have any idea of the beauty within which they approach. It brings thoughts of past departures and hoped for future returns.
Planes Landing In the Fog
The lights from above slowly coming down,
Inevitably descending, snugly sleeping and
All routine - up there, but from down here
It gives us, on the ground, an atmospheric lift.
We are not coming into anything; rather
The lights from above slowly coming down,
Inevitably descending, snugly sleeping and
All routine - up there, but from down here
It gives us, on the ground, an atmospheric lift.
We are not coming into anything; rather
We came out of it, away from it and now
Our memories lift us; we landed long ago.
While they, become, this night, for us, a tug to go.
If only they could see themselves arrive;
Soft crescendo of a roar rising as they drop;
And our eyes raised along with our spirits in the
Departure they give us when they come home.
While they, become, this night, for us, a tug to go.
If only they could see themselves arrive;
Soft crescendo of a roar rising as they drop;
And our eyes raised along with our spirits in the
Departure they give us when they come home.
---- Big Frank Dickinson
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