A poem for children
As I fly in my machine over hills and valleys,
I see a pretty girl looking to the skies.
She hears the sound of the flying machine,
but cannot see me, so I opine.
My machine is a new plane that I made,
it flies just above the treetop's surface.
I can see all the shy birds in the trees,
It is a delight to see where all they hide.
My machine is invisible to all and sundry,
no one has made something like it you see.
No one can see me that is for sure,
Unless I raise the shield for fresh air.
Soon my flying machine is alongside,
she turns around as if to take flight.
Her hair blows all over her pretty face
she tries to see through the impending haze.
Soon I burst out in fits of laughter,
audible to her like running water.
she flings a stick blindly into the air,
manages my wheels to strongly strike.
The laughter now is from her for sure
I am the one looking towards its repair.
The shield lifts suddenly due to the impact
I jump out thinking I would be whacked
But the joke is on me for sure today,
her brothers have been waiting today.
I get a thrashing that I will never forget,
The flying machine is not for nonsense.