One Sunday morning we went to fly a kite in the park.
It took flight on this very windy day,
And the wind pushed and pulled the kite.
Like an umpire in a game of baseball,
The wind was the slugger in the game of nature.
Then the kite fell to the ground.
The wind made its way to bed,
And slept comfortably until its return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem