Flight - All Spondees
'Plane, take me by coach sky high - reach cold space.
Race Sol's bright light beams westbound - beat night's shade.
Make brain's mind glow like flambeau shines my face,
fly me high so I might know globe's great grace.
Green trees, gray slopes, wide plains, deep lakes we trace,
These wholesale sights show wide view - they don't jade.
We see white fleece shade piles while haze veils brace:
Wheel ways, phone lines - those laid by roadwrights made.
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