Since the touch of flight, the feel, took
my thoughts and dreams forever steal. In my aviator’s heart the softest place,
sits a sweet Swiss maiden in aluminum lace. I have longed for her comfort, her presence,
her pace.
Four bladed, sleek perfection. A blend of
function and form not needing correction. Sitting high atop trailing link,
soaking up pilot’s mistakes without the slightest blink. Cockpit equipped with
all a commander could wish for and a cabin, self-loading baggage can only
adore.
Into the worst of climatic distress, she
will push on faithfully whatever the test. Twelve-hundred horse power bridled
by valve, long legged distance she continues to halve. Thousands of miles and
coast to coast meet, our lady of Pratt and Whitney purrs on, not skipping a
beat.
There she sits proud and poignant on the
ramp, firmly and forever her mark on aviation stamp. Master goes on and red
beacon cycle, ignitors are ticking and prop turns to spiral. Acceleration brisk
and rotation so crisp. Onwards and up into silver-lined white wisp.
Tis’ where she belongs, our sweet Swiss
miss. On golden edged clouds and never ending blue abyss.
-The Swiss Miss.
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