In a quaint village, nestled by rolling fields
Lived Harold, a farmer, steadfast and sceptical.
He scoffed at tales of scoattle expedition
Dismissing dreams of pigs soaring high.
Farmer Giles, with his whimsical notions
Laughed with the sun and worked with the moon.
Harold watched, arms crossed, eyes narrowed
Doubt clouding his heart, reason ruling his mind.
One evening, beneath a sky painted with twilight,
Harold stumbled upon Bill\'s contraption
A pig-shaped drone, a relic of dreams
Left by the barn, whispering secrets of flight.
Harold\'s curiosity sparked, a reluctant ember
He tinkered with the machine, hesitant yet drawn
A twist of fate, an unexpected ignition
The drone lifted, wobbling into the dusk.
Startled, Harold chased, feet pounding the earth
Through fields of wheat and meadows of clover
Until the drone settled, softly as a whisper
In the heart of the village, under watchful eyes.
Villagers gathered, murmurs of awe
Harold stood breathless, heart racing with wonder.
Farmer Giles stepped forward, a knowing smile,
\"Sometimes, my friend, the impossible just needs a chance.\"
With newfound faith, Harold joined the quest
Transforming doubt into dreams, scepticism into hope.
Together, they built and flew, side by side
Bridging the gap between ground and sky.
The village watched, inspired and amazed
As pigs of metal and dreams took to the air.
Harold\'s journey from doubt to belief
A vote toward the power of faith and discovery.
In the end, they soared not just in flight
But in spirit, bound by a shared vision.
For in the heart of every sceptic lies a dream
Waiting for wings, ready to fly.