You called the kite Buford
(you always had a knack for names)
I ran in the sand, and threw the kite up
While you clutched the strings tight
And as I walked back
I saw the joy in your eight-year old eyes
Saw your heart surfing the breeze
In that blue Georgia sky

We still have that kite in the basement
The strings are tangled
A pole is broken
I don't know if you even
Remember his name
Or that moment
He'll probably never fly again
But in another way he'll never come down
For as long as I can hold on to
Your face in the sun