What grips the tail of my kite?

Clinging tightly to out-stretched string

To me: a fluttering, flapping, flying thing


What holds me, anchored to the earth?

Keeping me bound to my place of birth

While I fly high and ponder my worth


What ties me to the foot-worn ground?

Binding me without my affirmation

So presumptuous of my consecration


What clutches and pulls me?

Bringing me back down

And whoever said that kites don't frown?