The Dragon-Kite

Are you listening to me, son? I am only your old kitemaker,

My poems are flimsy things

Torn by the wind, caught in mango trees,

Good sport for boys and dreamers.

My silent songs. But once I fashioned

A kite like a violin,

She sang most mournfully, like the wind

In tall deodars.

Are you listening? Remember

The Dragon-kite I made one summer?

No, you were too young. A great

Kite, with small mirrors to catch the sun

And eyes and a tongue, and gold

Trappings and a trailing silver tail.

A kite for the gods to ride!

And it rose most sweetly, but the wind

Came up from nowhere,

A wind in waiting for us.

My twine snapped and the wind took the kite,

Took it over the flat roofs

And the waving trees and the river

And the blue hills for ever,

No one knew where it fell. Son, are you

Listening? All my kites

Are torn, but for you I'll make

A bright new poem to fly!