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Best Flying Poems

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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Flying Poem | |

Autumn Reverie

Shifting haze, so slowly trailing
Through wood and field, now veiling
Melancholy skies, holding back the tears
With wild geese flying to meet other years.
Flames of crimson torches come flinging
Leaves on knarled branch swinging; 
Desolate winds rush leaping
Taking flowers to their final sleeping.
In the groaning of the atmosphere
Unfolding sorrows weep with the fading year;
Fields of cluttered stubble are tangled
With rampant weeds, dew drop spangled.
Flocks of birds leave like flying missiles
Over fields of corn and drying thistles;
Then my dream of autumn fades, paling
Through a grandeur all prevailing
When sunset fires light sky and sea
And sink in the breath of serenity.



Details | Flying Poem | |

F-5 Tornado

The warm temperature drops outdoors,
    And first drops of fresh rain sprinkle.
      The thunder claps right above me,
         As lightening is striking afar.
         Dust is blowing in the wind,
         Trees are bending fiercely,
            A train horn blares,
              As the core nears me.
              Then sudden silence,
             A calm reappears.
              Electrical fires start,
               For a moment one
            Thinks it’s over,
             Then it starts
              Again quickly.
                 Passing by my  
                Home taking
                 My neighbors,    
                  Tin flying by,
                   The tornado
                      Fades, look                   
                         At all the
                            Damage.
                                 And I 
                                     Am
                                       Uns
                                              c
                                                  a
                                                       t
                                                            h
                                                        e
                                                           d.

My poem is about Tornadic weather and evokes
Water in, 'first drops of fresh rain sprinkle'
Wind in, 'Trees are bending fiercely'
Earth in 'Dust is blowing in the wind'
Metal in 'Tin flying by'
Fire in, 'Electrical fires start'

Feeling in 'The warm temperature drops outdoors'
Smell in 'First drops of fresh rain sprinkle'
Taste in 'Dust is blowing in the wind'
Sight in, Lightening is striking afar'
Hearing in 'A train horn blares'
_____________________________
Inspired by Deborah Guzzi's
Five Senses / Five Elements contest.

Details | Flying Poem | |

Worcester Rooster


Out on the faraway of Spring,
the wraiths tap-dance atop the fields,
their laughter rises when they wield,
and beam to innocent their swing.

Our donkey left the barn last night,
pursuing thus, a gracious mare;
a whir became on stardom glare,
enchanting all jennets in sight!

The chickens started to escape,
because of a bewitching coq,
(with sauce of Worcester, cooked in wok),
- his spook got drunk on Concord grape.

Our precious cow (miss World was called) ,
wore ten inch spikes with a short dress,
and jumping up the barn egress'd,
absorbed by night for e'er un-stalled.

Two versing hogs, were cuckoo-spelled,
and oinking Shakespeare's sixth sonnet,
spiraled afar; a gifted duet
on website poetry excelled.

This Pandemonium's trick song,
our grandma sang while her broom climbed,
with a 'ye haw' she left and rhymed,
new magic flying to Hong Kong.

Nigh this Catastrophe's attacks,
the neighbor's daughter dressed like ghost,
to whistling granted her riposte,
- and much was kissed, on dry hay stacks.

© G. V., 11-19-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)

Worcester: is pronounced "Woo'ster"

Details | Flying Poem | |

Horse From Mars

HORSE FROM MARS

It came from the sky, a gray silver stallion.
I looked up high, and I have also seen a dragon.

With so many things in this universe.
I'm on stand-by with a camera in my purse. 

Who would have known I'd be the first to spot a PEGASUS.
The town folks wave hi every time I walk my hippopotamus.

I enjoy showing everyone, my pictures of a flying horse.
I don't see why they call a DOCTOR every time I call the TASK FORCE

I think they are jealous over all the things I've seen.
They act all crazy since I sighted a LEPRECHAUN when I was fourteen.

No one ever believed me when I saw an army of dragonflies.
They have a name for me "the boy who See's too much in the skies!"

I don't know why they can't see what I see.
For all I know they are all experiments under Alien Technology.

They don't believe me how I got this magic MEDALLION.
It was a friendly gift from the silver stallion.

I also have many pictures of a  UNICORN.
We became best-friends when he gave me a piece of its magic horn.

We sat together while he drank from the lake.
We enjoyed talking, --talking about how U.F.O.'s are fake.

Why can't they see? The day I fell off a boat, I got rescued by a MERMAID!
Who would have known a mermaid swim around with first-aid.

I also remember the day I followed a LEPRECHAUNS.
We were playing under the rainbow having so much fun.

When I told my doctor about all the things I've seen.
He locked me in a DUNGEON, thinking I was the ALIEN QUEEN.

I begged and I told him I don't believe in any type of alien.
Too bad the master of this dungeon came from another region.

In a way he looks like that one SILVER STALLION from Mars.
The first creature I'd seen the day I fell off the monkey bars.

I have this picture of this horse of course.
JUST help me out of this white-jacket!!! ;-)
If you want to see the coolest picture of a flying horse. 

   ~SKAT~
       &
(A small collaboration with: B-Boy)

re-post for ~FUNNY CONTEST

Details | Flying Poem | |

Please Give me Wings

Wash my heart and make it clean
Remove the grime from where it's been 

Take my idle hands make them yours
Use them to open holy doors

My cracked lips long to sing your praise
Be my Misto the rest of my days

Guide my calloused feet along your path
I wish to know Love and not your wrath

Take my arms place them around the poor
Help me realize I need less not more

Plant your precious thoughts in my mind
Change me from selfish make me kind

let me see your face with my eyes
Remove my ignorance make me wise

Apart from you I cannot be whole
Thank you for this reconditioned soul

One day my life will end I know that's true
Please give me wings so I can fly to you

Details | Flying Poem | |

The Flight of Bebo

Bebo was a bird
who could not fly
He kept flapping his wings 
'cause he knew he must try

There were two other birds 
that were laughing at him
As he was jumping and flapping
up high on a limb

It must be so hard 
to be stuck in a tree
Said, those two silly birds
That were laughing at me

I do not like you
get out of my tree
Don't you have somewhere to go?
Don't you have somewhere to be?

Bebo then said
let me get back to my endeavor 
Or, I'll be stuck in this tree
forever and ever

He knows he's a bird
he eats worms and sings
He just needs a good breeze
to get under his wings

Bebo worked hard all week 
to get into the air
Then he started to cry
Yelling, this isn't fair

With tears down his cheeks
Bebo looked at the sky
He said, I know I'm a bird
so why can't I fly?

The wind then spoke out
and said, It's not how you try
You must climb to the top
You must get really high

Then open your wings
and face into me
I will help you find flight 
just get up there, you'll see

Bebo went to the top
of his lonely old tree
He opened his wings
and, waited to see

The wind then picked up
and, carried him high
Bebo was laughing with joy
'cause now he could fly

From that day on
Bebo was happy with flight 
He said goodbye to his tree
and, then he flew out of sight

Details | Flying Poem | |

Freedom

In solitude I dream tonight
And watch a moth in fevered flight.

It’s drawn toward my quaint porch light
And flies consumed with all its might.

Through open window I can see
Its desperation shared with me;

How freedom in this world is light—
And we as souls are drawn to fight.

Though freedom’s light may cause our death,
It’s worth the risk with every breath.

I understand the moth’s sad plight
When drawn to the glorious light.

Though it knows not of human trust,
It buzzes on because it must!


For Chopped II Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Craig Cornish

Details | Flying Poem | |

Kite Flying - Test

Kiss me,  I want to lift you skirt flying
Inside my heart like the wind
To dance on clouds of joy my kite
Embracing time, to hold you in my arms and spin

Festively playing in the clouds
Long lines of passion I can feel
Yearning against my string
Intermittingly fawning as you bow
Naked to the throb of wind
Garrulous like a lover moaninng

The scintillated light.
Etched upon the sweat shining
Silver shafts of ribs
Tensed in every fibre and nerve of being
               ...
I want to press my lips 
Upon your cheeks, prettier than confetti paper
And let the golden sunlight drips
Chocolate of satisfaction on my tongue
Because I made a kite like this

Then to breathe your fragrance 
Falling free
From every jasmine of your limb
Where the lissome bamboos hold firm
The quivering of my string

And when the wind exhausted
Make you loop and dip
Before suppliant eyes
To cash that boyhood zeal again
And run until you rise

Or shortening your leash
Bring you in
To closer dazzle my eyes
And let your string between my fingers fall
A ravished and splendid bride

I want to make you feel secure again
Your flying strained against my faith
Buoyed by the comfort of my love
For you the only joy that fills my eye
In the huff and blow of time

I want to lift you like the wind
And with you all my affections fly
To shout in glee from my little hill
Below unlettered clouds in pride
My kite alone to fly.

Details | Flying Poem | |

WINGING BY


Sequined fireflies winging lightly by into grassland ablaze, they swirl on moon's romance of a dream buoyant as crepe lanterns throwing gold stardust on my damp cheeks; night magic... blow a wish! Freddie V's Contest Never published NONET

Details | Flying Poem | |

Natural Instinct

         Three Sonnets tell a story, in sequence.
[From the narrative poem, "Don't Go to Wyoming Alone"]

         I. Natural Instinct  (Chivalric Sonnet)

He saves a wad of cash and designates
the stash to finance trek in far-off land
in hunting boots and custom gun he built 
for me with love and hope for trophy grand.

"Is this a trip I've dreamed about?" I ask.
"Can I enjoy the hunt, savor the kill?"
I contemplate the danger in that land -
will heat, dry thirst and bugs defeat my will?

Might this be atmosphere I cannot stand?
Excitement builds as I heft gun with ease
and find the answer soon on target range
as my bull's eye displays my expertise.

Though I have no inborn instinct to kill,
my reason tells me not to waste this skill.

               II. Lost Vacation  

Our trip is planned, we'll soon be on our way,
he's called and found the perfect spot to stay.
The husband leads you out to hunt the wild
as room is cleaned, clothes pressed, wife cooks gourmet.

Alas, things change, his current bent is new.
While Mom and I go west without a clue
he flies the skies to satisfy desire
from Air Force days where first the hunger grew.

But circumstance forced him to stay aground,
our funds were tight and kept him budget bound.
Since children now are wed and off the corn
he's free to choose to play or bum around.

When we return from trek out west by train,
he's spent vacation cash to buy a plane.




              III. New Dimension (Couplet Sonnet)

What fun we've had in years of golden age
as we, in freedom's row, our thirsts assuage.

We climb above the ground in utter glee
and view the earth below from Cherokee.

We join a pilot's group and meet new friends.
We travel now as time and space portends.

Each time we fly we bring two more because
two empty seats invite our friend's' applause.

But soon we build a smaller home down south.
I close my ears as words come out his mouth,

"The plane's for sale, I need a tractor now
to plow off snow and grade the road."  It's how

our trip to Africa, in quickened time,
became a tractor.  Surely, that's a crime.



Details | Flying Poem | |

And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 
money.

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.

Details | Flying Poem | |

A Moment, Luminous

With closed eyes, it seems so natural to fly in a kingdom of the winds Far from here, I will circle the moon, and wash myself in radiant light And then soar, in the clarion dawn, to free-fall over the edge of earth While cool mist, washed in splintered sunlight, lets me be a shadow of myself
_______________________________________________ 10/30/14 For Nette's Contest: Crystalline By Carrie Richards

Details | Flying Poem | |

ANTHONY

An angel gave wings to you so you can fly
Never will life pass you by
Toward the sky you will guide
Hovering above the world so high
On a cloud you sit as other's sigh
Never will you fall from the sky
Your angels taught you how to fly

Details | Flying Poem | |

Surreal Poem


Last night I dreamed
your eyes were lit
in a world of fire
your kisses struck
like heat lightning
many moons rose and fell
tides pulled the shoreline closer
you transparent as a ghost
and in the heat of this frozen night
we were still there...

You the porcelain doll
eyes that open and shut
words yet to crack
mute rain between us
eyelashes black and shiny
sitting on the edge of the mountain
with just a shallow stare...

My body gliding to you
I try and break through
waves that have become mountains
that cover the pale skyline...
~ ~

Details | Flying Poem | |

My How Time Flies

Since the elders often proclaim, my how time flies, 
You then naturally look up into the skies.
To study the heavens for at least one small sign,
From the horizon up to the tallest tree line.

Then suddenly, a flock of birds flitters about,
So you believe that you might have time figured out.
But when the old people mentioned, my how time flies,
They didn’t bring up birds; so is time in disguise?

As a carnival balloon, yes that’s it, you say,
Like the vanishing kind on a bright summer day.
But losing your own, is one of life’s biggest fears,
Since you don’t want to waste any time crying tears.

It’s possible that time is commuting by plane,
Which is surely the fastest speed time could attain.
But what good can that be when the planes out of sight,
Unless it quickly returns from its roundtrip flight?
 
Then is waiting around to see time such a waste,
When each day there are many affairs to be faced?
Then out of the blue a helicopter is seen,
And you reflect, maybe time is on that machine.

But as soon as a copter is here it’s gone by,
After noisily chopping the beautiful sky.
Although it’s very unlikely time takes that ride,
Unless it cannot hear, or ear plugs are supplied.

Wait a minute, I got it, time surfs over clouds;
If I could do the same all my friends would be proud.
And occasionally time would appear as rain,
But then an excess amount would go down the drain.

Then could time be a portion of air all the time,
To be breathed in, or to give life to a wind chime?
Though, is that really flying like old people claim?
It seems all my guesses are exactly the same.

Well, after a long life of thinking and trying,
To figure out the ways that time could be flying,
In heaven, by feather, or motor, as vapor,
Yet, not one of those ways can be proved on paper.

Until recently, when I looked in the past,
The answers were there for those time questions asked.
That time really flies, though it takes time to see,
That a lifetime of living, is the real key.

And now I tell the young, that time truly flies,
But don’t bother looking up into the skies.
Time earns its wings every day, inside the mind,
And can only be seen, when looking behind!

David Fisher for Impress Me-Iambic Meter Contest
Philosophical motif

Details | Flying Poem | |

the day you flew to Heaven


           We knew , it was if a moment stopped in time 
              hearing the news before most of the World did
           He loved to fly his plane from Colorado to Monterey Bay
           He was a avid golfer at Pebble Beach respected 

           He had loves and passions from many places 
           deciding to fly low through the overcast red sunset
            Not only did he love music and inspire all 
            He loved his Plane , he will always remain a beautiful Soul

              The next day it was confirmed ..all saddened 
             It was John Denver's plane that went down
             Today in Pacific Grove stands the Memorial 
             So Kiss me and smile for me we will ~
              always in loving memory 
               OH babe ,  do we hate you go ~    
                            
    

         Inspired by ; contest in Music and Loss of an Artist
                   "Leaving on a Jet Plane "
             

Details | Flying Poem | |

Fifteen tiny Swallows

Fifteen tiny swallows

Fifteen tiny swallows
All perched upon a fence
Oh what handsome fellows
But here, let me commence
To speak of all their beauty
These tiny little birds
All black and cream with a reddish throat
Oh how my heart they stirred

A lady walking with her dog
Disturbed these little guys
So from the fence these birds take wing
And head towards the skies
It seems that they are dancing
In the way they fly around
 They always seem to fly in circles 
And nearly touch the ground.

I walk around these wetlands
And wonder at it all
Everyday it’s something else
And it’s all so beautiful
Ducks and swallows, parrots too
And the beauty of the lake
I love to walk there most of all
At the coming of the daybreak.

16 August 2013 @ 1510hrs.




Details | Flying Poem | |

She Never Believed

In this magical forest, in every enchanted tree,
There lived odd creatures that are so rare to see,
White unicorns and tiny fairies with glowing wings,
Huge, green dragons and a mermaid who sings,
So many stories this curious, little girl had heard,
Though, she did not believe in a single word.

She moved the long grass and peered through,
To find a babbling brook with waters of blue,
Her eyes grew wide and she could not speak,
When she saw what was floating along the creek,
A tiny, glowing fairy was sitting upon a daisy,
Who was gazing at the sky and feeling quite lazy.

The sprite was frightened by this sweet, little girl,
Who was curiously twisting a little, blonde curl,
The fairy jumped up from the daisy and into flight,
The innocent, little girl had meant her no fright,
She watched with wonder as she flew away,
And wanted to catch her and ask her to stay.

All of a sudden this girl began to slowly shrink,
In her little mind she had no idea what to think,
When a giant butterfly had just landed at her side,
She quickly grabbed onto it's wings to go for a ride,
She could tell this sprite stories she had never heard,
And wondered if she would believe in a single word.





Roger Horsch's contest - "The Magical Forest"

Details | Flying Poem | |

In the Heavens

The elements of the heavens above Where the birds go swaying and dipping down And the clouds mist their way along the sky There the dark sky shrouds the moon with a gown In awe I spread my arms just to accept The nature of the clouds and the cool air Beams of white light coming out from the moon Adds to the serenity that’s out there I hold out my hand to receive a drop A drop of dew from the heavens above Tenderly I kiss it and fill my soul Makes me want to fly with the birds I love The highest point of the sky before space Is where I end up, looking at the stars No other beauty compares to this trip I slowly fall back amongst the briars I live meagerly here on this vast Earth Then I fly again amongst the great clouds I often go see with the birds up high Joyously live my days with all that’s proud Russell Sivey

Details | Flying Poem | |

THE IMPOSSIBLE

It's unexplainable yet undeniable 
as incredible as that may seem
Society says it's debatable, unfavorable 
but the impossible is inspirational to me

You can be unshakable no fear of breakable
you're completely capable of anything
It's indescribable to be anti-gravitational
not held down by fallible thoughts of man.

It's not irrational in fact it's quite practical
acceptably exceptional to be adaptable
So go be sensational a professional radical
Escape the natural and taste the magical

You call me laughable my thoughts fallible
cause this world's not bashful in its disdain
But I've grown fanatical now I'm unflappable
to touch the maximal and taste the valuable 
I see the beautiful in everything!

*Based on first print in Debbie's contest rules 

Sponsor:Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name: Rock My World
Date: 4-19-14

Details | Flying Poem | |

Hidden Mountains

A solo pilot, lost in snow,
in a jagged mountain pass,
his eyes are trained upon each tree,
and the shape of each crevasse…
In an open-cockpit time machine,
the winter wind does howl,
but a mighty fire’s burning bright,
inside the engine cowl.
The fog and flurry blinding him,
he searches for a trail,
running late, and miles behind,
he’s employed to fly the mail.
He looks for clues to lead him back,
like ancient, sunken wagon tracks.
A mumbled cuss, then shouts out loud,
he’s heard that mountains hide in clouds…   
Now’s the time to pay the toll,
for conversations with his soul.
One way in, and one way out,
it’s true that mountains hide in clouds.
 
Copyright © 2013
 

Details | Flying Poem | |

Tree, Roots and the Light

Tree  Roots  and  the Light 


The tall Tree was Flying, its leaves high in the sky,

Trying to go beyond the flying kites, towards the light,

Its roots were trying to penetrate the soil, 

Heading in the deep darkness, it kept moving without a shine. 


Higher its branches touched the Crown of mirth, 

Touching the lofty heights of light and the sky,

Its leaves and branches were flying and dancing,

In the joy of touching Light and those untouched, heights.


Some where, not far beyond the skies, lives dearest of our heart and soul,

I saw the Tree kept moving towards that One, it always adored, 

While its beloved roots too, were silently busy in supporting,

Without which, the Tree can never even stand to touch the lofty scores.


I thought and wondered, which one contributes more,

In touching the limitless, lofty heights and the glow of the sky,

The stem, which is blessed to touch the sky, or the roots that resembles,

A true beloved without which, the stem even can not stand for a while. 


The Tall tree was standing before me, unfolding its love towards the Sky,

With a high and prideful head in the sky, the tree was heading towards the glow,

Far away from its beloved roots, to feel the serene touch in the limitless sky, 

Going a little closer to that Glow, which we adore and love and call Almighty.

Ravindra  


Kanpur India 22 08 2010 




Details | Flying Poem | |

Soul Fly

I wish to stroke my soul
       as to awaken it 
       from its dormant state

 releasing it 
   so that it might transcend 

into the sky and beyond
      past the moon 
      and all the stars

penetrating the borders of the galaxy

leaving the universe 
       
escaping time...
(forever eternal)

Details | Flying Poem | |

Care of Heaven

Hello dear friend – so – what’s new?
Tell me - How have you been?
There’s so much I want to share with you
But I hardly know where to begin

The news from here’s both good and bad
But life can be like that, I suppose
Most things are going well, though we’re all still sad
When we’ll be through missing you - no one knows

Are you an Angel looking down on me?
Or have you become part of eternity?

This letter will travel very far
By air-mail – on the wings of a dove
She’ll turn left at the Northern Star
Watch for her flying high above
With an envelope addressed “Care of Heaven”
I’ve sent it to you, with my love 

Tell me - do you slumber, do you still dream?
Can you float on clouds all day long?
Have they got more than 31 flavors of ice cream?
Does a harp now accompany you in song?

Have you ever seen the face of God?
Are the streets truly paved with gold?
Do you spend your summers in Cape Cod
Head for Tahiti when the weather turns cold?

I know it’s silly to go on this way 
But I wish you were with me today

This letter will travel very far
By air-mail – on the wings of a dove
She’ll turn left at the Northern Star
Watch for her flying high above
With an envelope addressed “Care of Heaven”
I’ve sent it to you, with my love 

Sometimes, at the end of the day
I think I hear you softly say:
“I’m still here - I haven’t gone away”
Is that my heart playing tricks on me?

Remember that park  - the one with the pine trees?
It’s as beautiful as it was back then
Whenever I visit I have sweet memories 
And pray that we’ll see each other again 

And so, dear friend, you’ll always be missed
I seal this envelope with a kiss 

This letter has traveled very far
By air-mail – on the wings of a dove
I’ll think of you always, wherever you are
And picture you somewhere high above
Happy to be in the Care of Heaven
Enfolded in infinite love


Details | Flying Poem | |

Baxter Bug and the Purple Orb

Baxter was born in a meadow 
under a rotting plank
with hundreds of brothers and sisters
in a home both darkly and dank.

His momma was a June bug 
and he was a June bug too,
schooled in all the sorts of things
that June bugs love to do.

The time had come for him to fly 
and leave his happy home,
his momma went to the book case
and pulled out a well worn tome.

She read from a chapter called "Hazards" 
to each of her children dear,
"Stay clear of birds when you’re flying 
or you won't last out the year."

"And one more thing that you should know, 
and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."

So he left his home behind him, 
went flying all around,
he saw some birds in the tree tops
and headed right for the ground.

After landing in the tall grass 
he met a stink bug named Dwight
who told him wonderful stories
of an orb so purple and bright.

"Forget now what your mother said, 
I'm here to set you straight,
the orb is just a doorway,
you know, it's like a gate."

"When you enter into its brightness 
you're magically swept away
to a lovely world of happiness
where forever you can stay."

So Baxter started searching, 
he looked both high and low
and if he found the purple orb
straight to it he would go.

But the light was very clever, 
it kept its secret well,
poor Baxter kept on looking
as if he was under a spell.

Finally on an August eve 
just as darkness was appearing
he spotted a distant purple glow
across a meadow's clearing.

"It must be the orb,” he said to himself, 
so he flew with all his might
across the meadow with all due speed
towards that beautiful purple light.

Soon he hovered before it 
and bathed in its eerie glow,
what wonders lay in store for him
his mind could scarcely know.

Gathering up his courage 
into the purple light he sped,
crackle and zap was all he heard
as he fell to the ground near dead.

He lay in a growing pile 
of other bugs who'd seen
a purple orb up in the sky,
but it wasn't what it seemed.

So if you meet a stink bug 
who goes by the name of Dwight
don't believe the tales he tells
of a beautiful purple light.

Remember what Baxter's momma said, 
"and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."