Place

Perfect people on the paper planes,

That set out to their home,

Had a little lucky lantern,

To the place that called them shown.

A ripe red ready striplight,

Sat for them to end their way,

And a fast fair fearless flight,

had safely started out their day.

The paper plane you rode upon,

Was much too small shape,

and the dark dull day was crawling,

So you sealed the folds with tape.

You knew timing wasn't everything,

And something wasn't right,

When the fragile foglights faltered,

And the moon was not as bright.

So you came to bed and whispered,

'Is this what I'd have to leave?'

As the humble heartfelt hug of yours,

fell on the home you'd come to weave.