I find myself giving life advice even to strangers I meet on airplanes.
One day into a plane I stepped
And up above the clouds was swept
Where I looked out on sky above
And downward looked on hawk and dove.
The lass who sat beside me there
Had tattooed on her foot a bear
And still in pain the ink did burn;
’Twas done that day, I soon did learn.
She had a boyfriend (maybe two)
And disliked work, though work she’d do
In order to earn cash to fly;
She liked to fly, but said not why.
We talked a lot re her that day
Then landed and I walked away.
I can’t recall the lass’s name;
A stranger she, and I the same;
I can’t recall to where we flew
Or what the work was that she’d do.
Was it last year, or years ago?
Did we fly east or west? Don’t know.
I don’t recall her build or face
(I think she was a pale race)
But I remember how her beaux,
Though praised, seemed bad to me, although
Her “just-a-friend” seemed more to me;
I told her, but she didn’t see
In one who’d drop his life to aid
Herself (and just her) an upgrade.