"Hush!" whispered the cold wind
blowing the kite away,
swooping it down from the sky,
from soaring too high.
"How could you choose the right path?"
if you're struggling to fly,
flipping and flapping,
o'er great oaks all day.
"Gosh!" gusted the stiff breeze
spanking that tail to sway,
blasting you one more time
for being soooo sublime!
"How would you know the right course?"
you're nothing but a floater, sistah
swinging and swanging
o'er and o'er, come what may.
"It is what it is," you may say
but, uh-oh, it's just too little, too late. ■
