Can you believe someone was actually daft enough to send me a poem about 18th Century
parachuting? When it comes to flaxen-haired tart Paul, yes, I can believe it. He's as
mad as a carpet, our Paul, oh yes...
An Ode to Parachuting.
In the Eighteenth Century.
(like it so far?)
An intrepid master of the skies
Am I, who in hot air balloon flies.
O lowly folk I see below,
I'm going to jump, just watch me go.
On basket's ledge, full proud I stand,
Surveying the spot where I should land
So far below, but isn't it sage,
To jump for progress in this Age?
So with triumphant shout I leap
From high above to valley deep.
My parachute is on my back,
Have I forgotten anything? Alack!
My spirit it doth quail and fret,
No-one's invented the ripcord yet.
Compiled by Andy Holten, with a bit of help from Paul Milner
© Andy Holten 1998