Robyn H Cubakovic

Robyn

H. (Hrvoich) Cubakovic

Of Bethel Park, age 58; passed away unexpectedly on Sunday, January 22, 2023; daughter of the late William and Donna Hrvoich; loving wife of Mark Cubakovic; beloved sister of Sherrie Plonski and Kimberly Hrvoich; also survived by sister in laws, brother in laws, nieces, nephews and her beloved dogs; Tootsie, Olive, Betty and Tulip.  Robyn served her county proudly as an Air Force Veteran where she earned the rank of Master Sergeant.  She was a member of the 171st Air Refueling Wing at Greater Pittsburgh Airport and retired after 37 years of service in 2018,  working in the Operations Command Post as well as serving as a Computer Network Specialist in the later part of her career.   She will be deeply missed by all who knew her.  Family and friends will be received Saturday, January 28th from 6-8 PM and Sunday, January 29th from 2-4 & 6-8 PM at Paul Henney Cremation & Funeral Tributes, 5570 Library Rd., Bethel Park where funeral services will be held Monday, January 30th at 11:30 AM. 

Burial will follow at the National Cemetery of the Alleghenies with full Military Honors at 1 PM.  Donations in her memory can be made to Animal Friends, 562 Camp Horne Rd., Pgh. PA 15237

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth’: so begins one of the most celebrated poems about flight ever written. Unlike earlier, Romantic poems written about birds in flight, ‘High Flight (An Airman’s Ecstasy)’ sees man taking to the skies, thanks to the early twentieth-century invention of the aeroplane. Here’s the poem ‘High Flight’, followed by some words of analysis.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

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