This poem was copied off the wall from an old airport at East Moline,
Illinois.
TAILDRAGGER
Taildragger, I hate your guts,
I have the license , ratings and such
But to make you go straight is driving me nuts.
With hours of teaching and the controls in my clutch
It takes a little rudder, easy, that's too much.
You see, I learned to fly in a tricycle gear
with one up front and two in the rear.
She was sleek and clean and easy to steer
But this miserable thing with tires and struts
Takes a little rudder, easy, that's too much.
It demands your attention on the take-off roll
Or it'll head towards Jones's as you pour on the coal.
Gotta hang loose, don't over control.
This wicked little plane is just too much
With a lot of zigzagging and words obscene
I think I've mastered this slippery machine.
It's not that bad if you have the touch
Just a little rudder, easy, that's too much.
I relax for a second and from the corner of my eye,
I suddenly realize with a gasp and a cry
That's my own tail that's going by.
You ground looping wreck; I hate your guts,
Give a little rudder, Great Scott, THAT'S TOO MUCH.
Author unknown
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