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The string trails away down
I tug it with all of my might,
I am the hue of setting suns,
I am a sporting red kite.
I wanted someone with scissors
to so deftly cut the strings,
transform into a real Red Kite
with eyes and feathers and wings.
Floating free upon the winds,
and marvelling at all that I spy,
swooping and diving at high play,
the flying master of the sky.
But now something has changed,
a strange and different feeling,
I think I'd like to be grounded,
for someone to start in-reeling.
I would like to feel so treasured,
a possession of the hearts cry.
Wishing to be the real Red Kite,
the pleasure in someone else's sky.
© Pagan Paul (30/12/18)
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