The Royalist


Close to heaven
I saw a kite fly high
By wind driven
It glided in the sky
Of falling
From a great height
It was aware of its calling

Farther down, in the pleasant green
I spied a flying ship with a sting
And I recoiled first, before disarming
For this was no predator
No preening matador
There was no malice in its face
Its masts were set sail to sail with glee
And it hugged on the tree
The bee embraced the flowers round the bark
And on its body bore a kitemark

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Poem Submitted: Friday, February 18, 2011
Poem Edited: Friday, February 18, 2011

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Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

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