How grand the crafts with silver wings,
But stripped down to skeletal remains.
Now gone the dreams of flying kings.
Old dreams once were where the designer sings,
The product of such creative brains.
How grand the crafts with silver wings.
The memory’s strong, how it clings,
The visions of speeding trains and planes.
Now gone the dreams of flying kings.
A beauteous craft with truth that rings,
Now but a pause in dreamy domains.
How grand the crafts with silver wings.
What echoes from ancient heartstrings,
Once part of soul’s ethereal claims.
Now gone the dreams of flying kings.
The poignant thought still stings,
‘Tho they were idealistic aims.
How grand the crafts with silver wings,
Now gone the dreams of flying kings.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.