2/12/11

A father and his children flying kites,

Unspooling string to feed their slow assent.

Their tethered toys, like butterflies, alight,

And foot by foot approach the firmament.

Upon the whipping winds, they dance and rise,

So high, we use a telescope to see.

I always used to fear of losing mine,

If it should break it’s line and wander free..

And now, I feel that tender fear again,

As I reluctantly draw out these ties,

In love of something very precious sent,

Away to sail the oceans of the sky.

I know the thread must break and free your flight,

Yet still, a child with trembling hands holds tight.