Making Things

I can vividly remember the first time it properly flew
My proudest, warped creation of balsa, tissue and sticky glue
That tiny glider kept my minds-eye open for hours that night
Restless dreams re-living all those heart-stopping first flights

I'd called it Sirocco after the wind - as if I knew!
I tried to explain that to my mum, but she didn't have the foggiest clue
I said that to me, the stripe on the wings was of utmost importance
Along with the T-tail, swept wing-tips and the centre of balance

My ten-year-old head could think of nothing else except the hill and that plane
Flying, fetching, flying, fetching over and over ... and over again.
My child's mind thought the potential was obvious, simply unbounded - it went on forever!
The thing I'd made, created by my own hands, by my own thrilling endeavour

One day, years on, my dad phoned wanting a clear out and was that alright?
Later he said they'd all gone up surprisingly quickly when he'd set them alight
The plane had finally gone but that memory, with many others, had seeped deep within
And instilled a life-long, genuine passion for making and creating things