The Hang Glider
At Bald Hill’s escarpment on Stanwell Tops,
a cliff edge rises to a patch of green.
As yellow pink light, the night darkness swaps,
a group of valiant hang gliders convene.
Against the rocks beneath, the big waves smash.
In silence he prepares his kite to fly,
eliminates all thoughts about a crash,
as he envisions gliding through the sky.
For the dynamic lift patiently waits,
then soars off, like a gull on breezy days.
Over thermal winds he floats with his mates,
like a yellow tail kite into sun’s rays.
Towards the sands of the lagoon he swoops,
then on white clouds he leaves receding ground,
whilst skywards he glides, dances, dives and loops,
then the kite he nose dives and circles round.
Towards the loved one waiting on the beach,
with golden hair and light blue eyes so bright,
beaming a sunny smile, pretty as a peach,
akin to the excitement of each flight.
Written by: Ronald Zammit