When Anthony was young
  He enjoyed being pushed around
In his sturdy, spacious pram.
  He would laugh on bumpy ground.

His mother was the engine.
  For her it wasn't fun,
And when he turned sixteen
  She refused to push her son.

But he was not deterred.
  He made a makeshift sail.
He attached it to the pram
  And he waited for a gale.

He had to add some steering
  With a rudder made of wood.
A strong wind moved much quicker
  Than his mother ever could.

One day he travelled miles
  Over fields around his home
Till he found a garden shed
  Posing as an aerodrome.

The planes were shopping trolleys
  Fitted with red metal wings,
Steering wheels and car seats
  That would make them fit for kings.

He took a pen and paper
  From the pocket of his coat.
The paper was a letter.
  He crossed out some words and wrote:

'Official Pilot's Licence'.
  He showed this to the man
Who ran this rural aerodrome.
  He said his name was Stan.

He happily let Anthony
  Into a plane to fly
Amongst the many birds
  In cloud gardens in the sky.

The take-off was successful
  And he rose above the trees
But he struggled to control it
  In the growing autumn breeze.

He nearly hit a pylon
  And he barely missed a rock
When the trolley grazed a hilltop
  While the pilot was in shock.

He somehow landed safely
  In the field beside a lake.
He went into the water
  Coz he couldn't find the brake.

He's now afraid of flight.
  That's why he'll choose to stay
In the safety of his pram
  On a windy autumn day.