Although I watched it flying,
I could see it had no wings.
From a gust of wind it started rising,
And a handheld ball of string.
As my father began to run,
It kept rising ever higher.
I remember thinking to myself,
This was something to admire.
My father handed it to me,
Told me to hold on tight and run.
And as I ran across the field,
I remember smiling and having fun.
But all at once the wind died down,
And the sun crept through the trees.
My flying friend came swooping down,
Like it had been stricken with disease.
I heard my father yell out to me,
To pull tightly on the cord.
But curiosity overwhelmed me,
And my father's orders went ignored.
On that day I watched it crash,
From whence it flew so high.
Although I felt discouraged,
Dad just smiled and said "good try".
Even though it was not me up there,
I still feel I touched the sky.
And it gave me confidence to think,
That I, too, one day could fly.
This is a poem written by myself sometime around 1995-96. It is published in a book of poems entitled "The Ebbing Tide". I wanted to share it with this poetry community to be enjoyed.