At Loring Air Force Base, the winds do call, Where landsailors gather, one and all. On runways wide, excitement unfurls, As sleek vessels race, like modern-day pearls.

Maine’s Loring base, a land of speed, Where landsailing’s rush takes root and feed. With sails stretched taut, against the breeze, Adrenaline surges, as they aim to seize.

The salty air whispers tales of flight, As landsailors chase the fading light. Their vessels glide, on wheels they dance, A thrilling spectacle of daring chance.

At high speeds they race, a dynamic show, Through open spaces where dreams can grow. Loring’s runways bear witness to the chase, Where landsailing’s spirit finds its place.

So let the winds guide, let sails take flight, On Loring’s runways, in day or night. A symphony of speed, a thrilling ride, In landsailing’s realm, where passions collide.

A.I.