THE KITE

Some times I’d like to be a kite—
and soar up in the sky.
I’d reach my arms way, way up—
and stretch my fingers high.
I’d whirl and twirl and spin about—
and tumble round and round;
and lift my shoulders one by one—
then nose-dive to the ground.
I’d dance and prance and swirl around—
and make-believe that I can fly.
But most of all I’d just like to glide—
and touch the blue, blue sky.
I’d pretend I had a long, long tail—
while sailing through the air;
then I’d catch my tail upon a star—
and dangle gently there.
What fun it’d be to be tossed about—
and watch the clouds float by,
while wondering about the moonbeams—
and the silvery, dusty sky.
I’d stand up on my tippie toes—
and float aimlessly in bliss;
among the billowy, marshmallow clouds—
in the blustery, windy mist.
I’d feel the gentle, blowy breeze—
whirl throughout my hair;
tousled, tangled, and knotted up—
while enjoying the rushing air.
What fun it’d be to be a kite—
to sway and laugh in mirth;
while being tossed to and fro—
before coming back to earth.