Peter was my hero, and Wendy my first fanciful lust.
We fought villainous pirates and bloodthirsty injuns,
and when danger came near as a dark scary night
we'd grasp just one happy thought and fly away
to a brighter new day, dreamed just for us.

Such a wondrous thing, the gift of flight.
Free, unrestrained... racing the laughing crows.
It seemed so simple I just had to try,
strange how the impossible, is so attainable
within the mind of a child of five.

I turn the old phonograph way up loud,
climb upon the hassock, (added height for takeoff)
I closed my eyes intense on my one happy thought
and singing the refrain to inspire me...

"You can fly, You can fly, You can fly."

I leap...
And for barely an instant in time I really do feel the sky.
Then gravity's reality crashes me hard to the floor.
Just in time to hear them laughing,
my evil older brothers watching at the door.
They had a great time with their haughty jest
I still hear of it today, but that's OK.

We were just kids and they lacked understanding.
For I was in training; practice for a not too distant date.
Honing my inner mind to create the improbable,
even the impossible, making it all seem real.

Today the refrain is no longer needed,
nor the hassock upon which to stand.
With old age comes a far grander experience.

Leaving all trials and tribulations upon the ground
I sit back, close my eyes, silence the world around.
Reaching out with sure confidence for the sky
with that child of five's, unrestrained inner eye.

Thanks to Peter and Wendy and my early lust
those heckling crows are left far behind
in vapor trails of my receding dust.

"I can fly, I can fly
I really can fly!"


© S.Loeding
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