Flight is freedom in its purest form,
To dance with the clouds which follow a storm;
To roll and glide, to wheel and spin,
To feel the joy that swells within;
To leave the earth with its troubles and ï¬‚y,
And know the warmth of a clear spring sky;
Then back to earth at the end of a day,
Released from the tensions, which melted away.
Should my end come while I am in ï¬‚ight?
Whether brightest day or darkest night;
Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain,
Secure in the knowledge that I’d do it again;
For each of us is created to die,
And within me I know,
I was born to ï¬‚y.
Poem written by: Gary Claud Stokor
Submitted by Deana Huneke, who lost her brother-in law, Craig, 28, a pilot aboard a
private plane, which collided with a military aircraft over Burlington, NJ on August 9, 2000.