I watched a spider
walk a webbed wire,
waltzing 'twixt me
and the water.

Thought of turning to words, and
concur did the birds.
Hoisting colors,
not flying more fodder.

For the staff's, (standing tall)
flag is not flown, but tied-on.
And, for it,
the boy seems more chipper.

Still he stares at the stars,
drawn-with, cigarettes, cars.
Doing his best to
pick-out, the Big Dipper.