Where, sky-pierced now the cloud had broken.Īnd drank the air and breathed the light.Īnd now 'tis man who dares assault the sky. The years to come seemed waste of breath, Father John MacGillivary, Royal Canadian Air Force Who taught his hand speed, skill and grace Who but I can slice between God's billowed legs,Īnd feel then laugh and crash with His step To feel freedom in a thing called the stick. What it's like to have the blue in my lap, I guess you think that is past understanding,īut maybe some day he will give me a landing. I always come through with, "By gosh it's gusty!"Īs I sit on the right of the man I call "Scrooge" Tell him where we are on the darkest night,Īnd do all the bookwork without any light.Īnd once in awhile when his landings are rusty Put on the heaters when we're in a shower Make out the mail forms and do the reporting,Īnd fly the old crate while the Captain is courting. I make out the Flight Plan and study the weather, Secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again īut I have to remember what the Captain forgets. Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain, Released from the tensions which melted away. To leave the earth with its troubles and fly,Īnd know the warmth of a clear spring sky To dance with the clouds which follow a storm Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy graceĪnd, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod My eager craft through footless halls of air. I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung Of sun-split clouds, - and done a hundred things Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of EarthĪnd danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings
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