<I>in memoriam Woodrow (Woody) Rifenburgh</I> <br /> <br />The soft purr of a Piper Cub <br />drifted over Italy's southern hills. <br />Soul stirred by the landscape’s song, <br />the young army pilot gently spoke. <br /> <br />“It’s mighty peaceful up here.” <br /> <br />Touching wheels to the tarmac, <br />Woody shed his flight suit <br />for an engineer’s desk <br />and placed a viola beneath his chin. <br /> <br />For three score years <br />Woody molded horsehair and wire into string song <br />steadying the orchestra’s midriff <br />with the vibrations of his spirit. <br /> <br />On Christmas Eve he played for the coming child, <br />fell stricken and flew his last flight <br />on instruments at Memorial. <br /> <br />Early New Year’s morn one could almost hear <br />the faint soft purr of a Piper Cub <br />as it banked to the right around the moon <br />and merged with the waiting heavens.<br /><br />Robert Charles Howard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/soul-flight/
