My Nana’s last year
Floating high in the sky,
You look unstoppable.
You could make a young girl cry,
If you were poppable.

A bright red balloon,
You’re not predictable or certain
Yet you’re always quite immune,
To the things beyond the curtain.

I love it when you fly,
But fear the destined crash.
I hate to say goodbye,
To the times you had a blast.

When the time comes and you pop
With pieces strewn about
I’ll remember how you never stopped
Loving us, no doubt