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
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