In Weirton, it is spring, the sun is shining,
A child runs with a kite floating in his wake,
Although it will not launch the child is laughing,
happy with the bright colors and the neat way
it bounces on new grass.
Some kites live a lifetime and never touch the sky,
too fragile to fly in fierce winds, they are grounded
from the day that sticks and paper meet with new paste,
some string and a small child’s hand.
Even grounded kites love April sunshine
and engage in playful flights of fancy
as they bump along the velvet meadow,
teaching children how to dream.