Helicopter

You come...jumping toward me,
You have big wings.
Chugging and chopping,
As your vibration rings.

You take to your feet,
With an intricate grace.
You don't need a runway,
To get off in space.

Dipping far outward,
When you make a land.
Your techniques are perfect,
Your precision is grand.

Your pilots are trusting,
Just the way the he flop-her,
No better machine made,
Than your...helicopter.

Take heed...and be wary,
To the place where you sat.
That you'll not leave her dangling,
But let her set flat.

E.P. 1908 - 1989