By Steve Weaver

First Flight 

Once when I was little and played on the hill,

One wondrous evening, I dream of it still–

Mom called me to dinner, impatient, I knew–

So I lifted my arms up and flapped them and flew.

I lifted my arms up and flapped them, and lo!

I was flying as fast as my short legs could go.

The hill swirled beneath me, all foggy and green;

I lit by the yard fence, and no one had seen.

I told them at dinner, I said, “I can fly.”

They laughed, not believing. I started to cry

And ran from the table, and sobbed, “It is true–

You need not believe me; I flapped and I flew.”

I told them next morning, I told them again–

For years I kept telling; they laughed and I ran–

No one would believe me; I ceased then to tell;

But still I remember, remember it well–

One soft summer evening up there on the knoll,

Before life had harried the reach of my soul,

I stood there in twilight, in childlight, and dew–

And I lifted my arms up and flapped them and flew!

This was written by Southern author and poet Louise McNeil, West Virginia’s Poet Laureate for many years. It was written late in her life and while she was never a pilot or even so far as I know a passenger in a small airplane, she speaks eloquently of the yearning that lives in the breast of all humans, to defy gravity and soar above the earth.