The Kite

Above she floats, she soars and flies.
Her colors vibrant grace the skies.
And through the strata does she rise;
Beyond the length of twine she tries.

Yet bounded by that cursed string
She cannot t'ward the heavens fling.
But rather tethered to the ground,
As if by chain, a hostage bound.

So for her freedom she did fight
That by the grace of God she might
Drift ever upward, out of sight.
But even more the cord drew tight.

Then she with her full strength did strain
To rend that blasted string in twain.
And with a twist and windy flap
The sinews of that line did snap.

Then for a moment she did soar,
But kites sans strings may fly no more.
And so from lofty heights did drop
To earth below without a stop.

Where she did light atop a tree,
Reduced to colorful debris.
And thus it stands; ‘though strings may tie,
Without them we might never fly.