Kites
Fancy or simple they float serenely,
or dance, dervish-like,
playing on invisible currents,
cavorting with airy gods.
On the ground below,
feet firmly planted,
the flier either becomes bored,
or revels in each tug and pull,
communicating with another world.
My Nephew, a true kite lover,
flying his two string stunt-kite,
coldly torments a free-running dog
which had terrified his little cousin.
The owner is furious, but can do nothing,
as the red and black triangle,
surprisingly loud at low level,
with leading edge ‘tremblers’ whistling,
dives, swerves, and trails its tail,
just above the frantic jaws.
Once the lead is back on the kite lands,
is folded away, packed in its case.
And a cold little smile,
eases his wrapt concentration.
Gyppo