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Morning light on Zaventem's wings,
The kind of hour when everything sings—
Engines roar like a joyful shout,
"Here we go!" — and the world opens out.

Up through the clouds, then into the gold,
Brussels glittering, brave and bold.
Spires and parks in a perfect grid,
Waving goodbye like a happy kid.

Higher still, where the blue runs free,
Every horizon a possibility.
Coffee in hand and a window seat—
Honestly, life feels pretty sweet.

Somewhere ahead: a friend, a feast,
A new adventure heading east
(or west, or south—take your pick
of the sky's wide mouth).
Wheels touch down to applause and cheer—
Flying's a gift. So glad you're here.