A poem from the airline:
Is that the roar of a city I know?
like a lion or phoenix at the end
of their road?
But as I gain closure and move closer,
she regains her youth
and time hands over some back
and I think I might remember.
Yes. her beacon stands,
her fire glows
and the river flows with
that same red youth,
a passionate folk for hope.
And they have their laugh.
I can hear it.
like the child I remember in the summer lawn
rolling around next door.
Yes. This is home calling, as I fly in
over the horizon, and I know her well.
This is where I was born
and reborn with new life and new learning.
I hope they haven’t forgotten my name.
And I hope there’s a place for me behind the counter
and a place for me to rest my weary head.
I hope they remember me, because
I haven’t forgotten them.