When I see bright contrails
Heading north and south
I like to think of the young pilot
Staring at his radar screen
Or talking to the lives he carries
When he may be thinking
Of his breakfast this morning
The most important meal of the day
Which he missed because
Of too much love-making
Or kissing his children goodbye
For a few minutes he cannot
Remember where he's flying
Until I whisper it to him
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