The Phantom by Margaret Ingall
The morning mist is silver,
The air is crisp and cold,
The sun is slowly rising
And turning grey to gold.
The landscape makes a picture
Becalmed within a frame.
Till comes a shift – a tremor
A hiss of gas and flame,
And there, beyond the treetops,
Like some phantasmal moon,
Upon the dawn comes riding
Adrift upon an upstream,
It floats with cobweb grace,
Unhurried as the dawning,
At one with sky and space.
And far below, still dreaming
The sleeping village lies,
And no-one sees the voyager
That moves across the skies.
Flighty's plot 
Wonderful! I love it. :o)
Merry Christmas Flighty.
I’ll toast your health on Christmas day.
Stay warm!! xx
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Daffy so do I! I’d noted the poem some time ago and only came across the balloon picture a couple of days back.
I hope that you have an enjoyable, and relaxing, time over the festive period.
I’ll do likewise! I will, and you too! xx
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I do like this poem and a lovely photo of the giant air balloon, not something you would ever see me in though, along with a helicopter, I am afraid I just don’t trust them. x
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Louise I do poem entries like this occasionally and always try to include a suitable linked image.
Although I’m a lifelong aviation buff I’ve never been that keen on flying! However I have flown in all sorts of machines, including balloons and helicopters. xx
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lovely. Simply lovely.
Merry Christmas flighty one. xx
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Fabulous hello and thanks! You too. Take care and hugs. xx
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I like the idea of a quiet drift over the landscape. Very picturesque! Hope you’re staying well, Flighty.
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Nikki seeing as how frantic it is at this time of year I thought that I’d try and calm it down a bit!
I’m well thanks and looking forward to a quiet, and relaxing, few days off. I’ll be reading, watching TV and taking a stroll round the allotment.
Take care and hugs. xx
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