Colours

Wind blows the colours high into the
Sky.
You look like birds,
Giant bugs,
And pinwheels.

Acting like a child;
You duck and dive,
Crossover and climb higher
You will not fall.

Motionless,
You swerve and crumple
And fall.
I guess you’re on your own.

Except at last,
Swooped up in the draft
Flying again.

I feel like a kid again.

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A cute little poem I wrote about kites that I saw one day. There was this guy who must have had ten to fifteen kites going, and as I watched them I came up with this poem.

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PAGE CREATED: February 13, 2000
LAST UPDATED: February 13, 2000

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