My First Time Flying

Another witch poem, this time from the younger sister's perspective.  Though it is a companion piece, you'll notice that this one employs assonance, while the older sister's doesn't. 

My First Time Flying

The wind is blowing way too much.

This death-trap that you call a broom

is bucking like a wild horse.

If I fall off, I’m blaming you.

I hold you tight around the waist

and look below to see my doom.

Cat-black pavement fills my sight,

like an unlucky, asphalt tomb.

Now nauseated, I look up,

and I’m blinded as I do.

The setting sun dies bright and bold,

a blazing beacon in the gloom.

I gasp, astounded by this sight,

and wonder how I never knew

how breathtaking it is to fly

above the clouds, below the moon.