I still live underneath the flight paths of <br />So many vagabonding airplanes: <br />Like a sorority of silver bellied girls who get up <br />Every morning knowing exactly what they <br />Do: <br />They start out and then they go: they seem to <br />Fly to New York <br />Through their sky of ice and snow: <br />And the sun warms them and curls their <br />Hair like a lover, <br />While down below we sell produce and knickknacks <br />Beside the river- and our days seem long, <br />But sooner are later we go away anonymous- <br />Our dreams spread out of our breathing <br />And disappear without anymore alarm or amusement <br />Into the sky where the beautiful girls <br />Are always flying<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-the-beautiful-girls-are-always-flying/
