“Ever high up, in a soft huff and slow kind of a puff “ Gun Roswell

Rising high, above the clouds
An exceptional ride I’ve chosen no doubt
A big balloon, fuelled with hot air
Someone else might run away in scare

A hot air balloon, this transport it is called
For without the fire and air, the lift off would have stalled
A giant blob of a ball piercing the tall skies

And in a tiniest of baskets, the passengers are huddled together
Knowing, their life is hanging by very narrow tethers

It’s all cool an fun when you look from below
But rising over the rooftops and clouds above
The perspective changes into a worry of a fall
Soon enough, you’re starting to huff and puff

Looking for a landing spot
From where everything looks like a dot
Finally starting to descend
Thank the deities that, all ended well