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?