Flying on a course that was not plotted
Rising up and down on thermal flows
The wind adjusting speed and interaction
The kite took flight and soared where no-one goes
The length and distance controlled by a pilot
Who held onto the string down on the ground
Across the field he ran to make allowance
For the way it flew and made a plastic sound
The wind died down, it lost its height and function
And dived back down to earth and lost its way
And then the child saw his own toys destruction
On a cold a windy April springtime day
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem