Hilltop Flight

I clench my hand and hold on tight To the string is tied a kite. Beyond the pasture and the trees Twisting, turning in the breeze. Farther it flies beyond the wires A beacon, like the smoke of pyres. The rope burns my tender palm But I remain patient, calm. If only for a few more moments, They will fall, my opponents. One by one their kites plummet As mine continues to reach its summit. Steady, I hold it through each gust Its tail glides, the color of rust. Mesmerized by its dance, I fail to hear all the chants. A crowd cheers, a bell rings, My kite and I, we are kings.

Poem by Clara Lehmann Book available at - https://www.coatofarmspost.com/about/