We always call a aeroplane a "she" and not without a reason.
She scorns the man whose heart is faint and doesn't show him pity.
And like a girl she needs the paint to keep her looking pretty.
For love she'll brace the sky vast, whatever type she be.
But if you fail to tie her down fast you're almost sure to lose her.
On planes and dames we pin our hopes, we fondle them and dandle them.
And every man must know his engines or else he cannot handle them.
Be firm with her and she'll behave when skies are dark above you.
And let her take a barrel roll - praise her, and she'll love you.
That's why a plane must have a mate; she needs a good provider.
A good strong arm to keep her straight, to comfort her and guide her.
For such she'll brace the roughest turbulence that crowd her.
And in a brand new coat of paint no dame looks any prouder.
The plane is like a dame in that she's feminine and swanky;
You'll find the one that's broad and fat is never mean and cranky.
With slight modification of a very old ditty, she obvioulsy is a she and so it must be we.
Last edited by Fuji Abound; 3rd April 2007 at 09:38.