Skip to main content
At last the wind had caught his kite,
And tossed it up into the light;
And, on its dazzling wings of white,
His heart soared into highest heaven:

And, even now, a man, his eye
Catching a white speck in the sky,
His heart again goes soaring high
As when he was a lad of seven.
Rate this poem
No votes yet
Reviews
No reviews yet.