There are trails that a lad may follow
when the years of his boyhood slip,
but I shall soar like a swallow
on the wings of a Sliver ship,

Guiding my bird of metal
One with her throbbing frame
Floating down like a pedal,
roaring up like a flame

Winding the wind that scatters
Smoke from the chimney's lip,
tearing the clouds to tatters
with the wings of my Silver Ship

Grazing the broad blue-sky light
up where the falcon's fare,
riding the realms of twilight
brushed by a comet's hair.

Snug in my coat of leather,
watching the skyline swing,
shedding the world like a feather
from the tip of a tilted wing.

There are trails that a lad may travel
when the years of his boyhood wane,
but I'll let a rainbow ravel
through the wings of my sliver plane.