Heard for miles.
A flying fossil,
One should not sleep-on,
And is impossible to ignore-
You’ve already heard it,
It’s dropped its ordinance.
Four engines- eight props,
Send “The Bear,”
Roaring through the sky,
To survey the territory.
To other’s airspace,
It’s the same old song and dance,
As six cutting-edge stealth-jets,
escort the old Bear,
back from whence it’s came,
Just stopping by to say “hello,”
And keep you on your toes.
A blank sheet of paper can say anything,
It can say many things,
But get one in the mail, and all you’ll have are questions.
“Caution! Contents may have shifted during flight.”
The tenuous letters may have slid off the paper,
Turbulence will do that, I think.
Turn the envelope upside down and shake with vigor,
Scoop them up and lay them out on a table,
You’ll need to rearrange them.
It’s been so long since I’ve gotten mail,
Now I make my own tall tales.