Lying on the sands of Kitty Hawk 

Gazing northward without a care, really; 

Every direction seems justs as promising, 

West, South, East to the sea. 

 

Read a book once 

All about two brothers, 

Two wings of a bird 

And two birds of a feather. 

 

Turning the pages 

Formulated a gust 

That scattered my mind 

And picked me high up. 

 

As these different parts scattered,  

Fluttered around violently,

They dragged my line of vision 

To a direction I had scarcely seen: 

 

A direction called "up" 

Had become an option for me; 

The brothers had discovered the skies themselves 

Back in 1903.  

 

We could do anything.  

We could be anything.