It summoned Wind in silken thread,
Finessing zigzag currents.
It soared in twisting torrents
Toward its freedom ride.
It laughed in celebration
With the little boy below,
Whose taunting muscles shared the lift
And kept his kite in tow.
"Come, Boy!" it cried in wind-delight.
” Let’s get above the grave."
It didn't understand the child
Who told it to behave.
Boy shivered mid the taut string breeze.
He held his dream at bay.
"You know not what awaits you
In the distant sea of gray."
The boy stood firm.
His eyes took flight
Upon this silk-winged, soaring sight.
"Let go!" The Wispy Wind swirled by.
"Your kite needs Father Sky."
"You promise life," The boy screamed out, "but how long can it fly?"
"Eternity knows not of time nor of the fear of dying.
You skillfully delivered flight. That’s your ‘ idea’ flying."
Then with a jerk the kite string snapped,
Relinquished to the breeze.
"Thank ya', Boy! The current swells!
It fills my ecstasy!"
With wounded heart the child stood watch.
An old man joined him there.
"I captured this on Polaroid.
Here, keep it in your care."
"Thanks," Boy sighed. He wiped a tear.
His photo-kite seemed proud.
He held the picture tenderly.
The stranger spoke aloud,
"It's O.K., son. Don't weep for one whose spirit is alive.
You'd want your kite to celebrate and not just to survive."