Snow melting when I left you, and I took
the kite you sewed, stitched and saved.

I’d never left you before but, as a kite would,
I would explore and soak the sky in colour.

I would delve and dive, swoop in crescents,
then save myself when at my lowest.

There were times when a kite should fly
and so it would, were there a breeze to sail.

Many others plunged and plummeted,
shot through and down with a brash snap.

A holler raised for another sent down,
saw red splayed on green then blackened-brown.

It was then my friends did not play anymore.
I saw how the colours were black and white.

Only a few kept a strong hold of their string.
Those who didn’t, fell. Tumbled. Tore.

Red flushed our fields when I wrote, though the
tides of scarlet set silence in all man’s heart.

Swards settling when I returned, and I saw
my kite that once flew brimming on proud lapels.