I wish to be that rarest kind of artist: The greatest artist of my ilk and age. I wish to be that one who flies the farthest The paper airplane made of ink and page. I do not wish to be this flying ace For medals or for glory or for fame: I wish to tell the eons of your grace, And loop the sky forever with your name. But I'm no clever paper engineer, And flawed design will keep my plane aground. No matter how it's thrown the crash-site's near Because its whole construction is unsound. My plane won't fly because it has no wings, And good intent can't fly the lightest things.