by Chloe Patron
Wind whistles through my hair,
as we play in the yard.
The flying kite freezes midair,
when the wind catches it off guard.
Suddenly it tugs violently,
and pulls you off your feet.
Then we’re running silently,
through the crowded street.
On and on and on we go,
‘til we reach the edge of town.
Finally the kite starts to slow,
we cheer as we bring it down.
As we walk back in time for tea,
I swear the breeze laughs at me.