Flight
By Gary Wittmann
January 10, 2005 ©
All rights reserved
Wings to take me up higher than the clouds
as if my mother’s arms fly me around the room.
Mountains that tops with white seemed to touch the wheels as we rolled over them
as I go over the mattress and toys on the floor.
Valley so deep and green, lush with treetops of many colors,
the carpet of many colors my forest.
Wings to take me down to the ground softly to earth one more time
like a baby being laid down on the mattress to sleep.
