The Kite

The blue and yellow kite just
sits in the loft gathering dust
but it dreams about the days
when boys took it out to play
and it flapped and it flew
and soared up to the blue
wagging its ribboned tail
as, through the air, it sailed,
fluttering on the breeze
above houses and trees,
motor cars and crowds,
bursting through the clouds
dancing with the sparrows
and darting like an arrow;
climbing to new heights;
the happiest of kites.
Then it doesn’t feel so bad.
“Ahhh!”, it says, “What a life I have had”.