His kite soared high in early April air,
So strong and steady were its pieces tied
And I could almost trace the string to where
It joined the bridle on the underside.
It climbed and hovered in the cloudless sky,
Its tail would twist and turn just like a snake.
It dove and darted like a butterfly
Or glided like a hawk when on the take.
My grandson tugged the string with such delight,
With joy that brought to mind some words I read,
"The things of happiness by every right
Belong to those who want them most it's said".
His every motion radiated joy,
Reminded me of kiting when a boy.