morning forty years ago I met the early light
And chanced to see a flock of sparrows zipping out of sight.
I realized that though the chance was only very slight
that maybe I could fly as well-- if only I'd been right.
next day, which was sunny, and the sky was very bright,
I took some wooden wings which would facilitate my flight
To the summit of a mountain of a most astounding height,
And I leaped above the ocean, and thus began my plight.
onto a mountain ridge and clung with all my might,
but my grip was weak and shifting, and it wasn't very tight.
I lost my hold and plummetted, but was I frightened? Quite.
A universe of tragedy could not contain my fright.
ground flew swiftly skyward and the wind began to bite,
and the flower of my heart was overshadowed by the blight
that had mastered final wishes and my willingness to fight,
when I landed in the ocean and the sky went blinding white.
sustained me, and I woke up late that night.
And now, four decades later, I have come back to the site.
And as I stare into the sky, and I my memoirs write,
I realize that I am quite content to fly a kite.