You took a red balloon by the string
And led it deep into the woods.
  You snipped the string from around your wrist
   With the switchblade I didn't know you had
    And let the balloon float away.
     You turned your back and didn't watch it fly away,
      So you wouldn't know that it didn't fly very far.
       The string tangled in the branches of an oak overhead.
        You didn't see it; you were already gone.
         I had once had a red balloon;
           I could have one again.
            I climbed into that oak tree after it.
             Wrapping my other three limbs around the branch,
              I reached my right hand for the string.
               It came undone easily beneath my inquisitive fingertips.
                I tied it to my own wrist.
                 It reached for heaven,
                  And carried me along with it.