Held by the Earth
The morning plane takes off and crosses skies.
While we are held by the Earth and cannot rise,
As a balloon is held by a child
Until the child should tire and let it go.
We have a sensitivity to death. As crows can smell and know.
The crow announces death then off it flies,
Where, we donít know, but the crow knows.
The morning plane flies, where, we neither know nor care,
But the plane knows. The balloon, loosed at last, goes who knows
If you have any comments on this poem, Robin Helweg-Larsen
would be pleased to hear from you.