The Old Kite

Saw An old kite today It is use to fly high, mister Give it some wind And it went all the way The little, boy, said The kite had a pretty tail And papers that tell The pride of the maker’s hand Before ravaged by the wind The frame was good The old bamboo bones Still kept the shape That made the village shout When it hovered over The still landscape. It was the paper The paper ragged and torn Sagged and flapped at the rips Like an old man’s skin Hollow in the Wind boy’s eyes were bright And looking in them Saw Down the vista of the years And prayed for him That someone Will cuddle him again When he stands here as I Like he cuddles The old kite now