We Build, The Planes Come
Unbroken, unending, the wine-darkened sea
Nor wanting, nor waiting, 'tis home now to me
We plough o'er the waves as the seasons revolve
Despairing to count the conundrums we solve
In light or in darkness, we strive for the heights
That once, as mere children disporting with kites
We scaled; now our efforts turn more to the South
Our smiling demeanour turned down in the mouth
We feather our flights to the target so far
Removed from our range; and we count it bizarre
That we, whom the Fates must have blessed at our birth
Are now the despair of each despot on Earth
| Contributors: | TG, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 12th August 1998. |