I still live underneath the flight paths of
So many vagabonding airplanes:
Like a sorority of silver bellied girls who get up
Every morning knowing exactly what they
Do:
They start out and then they go: they seem to
Fly to New York
Through their sky of ice and snow:
And the sun warms them and curls their
Hair like a lover,
While down below we sell produce and knickknacks
Beside the river- and our days seem long,
But sooner are later we go away anonymous-
Our dreams spread out of our breathing
And disappear without anymore alarm or amusement
Into the sky where the beautiful girls
Are always flying

Robert Rorabeck

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-the-beautiful-girls-are-always-flying/