Bedecked in a multitude of colours
Soaring as high as a bird
It whips and it dives
And swoops and jives
As the small boy hangs onto the string
His attempts to steer it are quite funny
As he wrestles with all of his strength
A mighty big breeze
And he's brought to his knees
Then up again breathlessly chasing
He's wary as the triangular shape does battle
And yanks him from here and to there
The look on his face
As that unruly object displays
A predisposition for pulling him over