Her kite strings are caught on a gill
She’s refusing to let go
Grains of sand have formed to hands
And are trying to hold her toe

                                No dad it’s not that
                                It’s an airship bound for Mars
                               With hands out the window
                               Waving king-sized candy bars

No son surely that’s not right
It must be a school bus full of children
With coloring pages
Half-way to all the way filled in
      
                                Dad don’t be silly
                                It’s Harold and his Purple Crayon
                                But he fell out of his balloon
                                And is trying to draw the ground

Oh no, will he make it
                                 I don’t know
I do hope he will
                                 I do think so

That’s good son
I’d hate to see him fall
                                I know dad
                                Wouldn’t we all

But you’re sure those aren’t whales
Floating through the skies
Because it sure does look like it
                                Dad!  Whales aren’t that size

                                Besides even if they were
                                What would whales be doing up there
Well, I mean they are just clouds
                                Not if you try real hard, I swear

                                                     Silly little humans there on the sand
                                                      Humphr­y, surely they’re little bugs