I must paraglide up to Speeton cliffs again, to the orographic and the grey,
All I ask, to launch high or low, and the chance to get away.

I quest wing’s surge, dynamic song and cliff clouds’ drifting,
A warming suns face on exposed tidal rock, offering warm air’s lifting.

I must climb the skies again, the desire to soar and glide,
Free flight's call, aching clear, that may not be denied.

All I ask is a sun filled day, with bright height’s gaining,
Least worry about cu-nim, with its towering dominance maintaining.

I must soar across the transition again, with glide and hopeful flight,
Follow the soaring sea birds ways, gully filled rocks with free wings delight.

Things I ask are friendly words with fellow paragliding rover,
And to avoid landing disaster when the long flight’s over.

Caravan avoid, rear flying and flapping wings with their last breath,
Please, please, avoid potential death.

The Paragliders Wish

High in the sky a paraglider does soar, fast and swift asking no more.

It beckons wing lift, as the thermals drift.
With majestic breath, and avoiding Death.

Flying is so free, he doesn't agree.
For he who is Death, beckons all those fools drawing last breath.

I wish those failing, choosing to ballot.
Land safely without break, avoiding sadness and forsaken pilot.