Kite

I am eight running as
Hard as I can holding
The string of my kite
Hoping the March wind
Will sail it up into the air,
Higher it goes wrenching
From side to side on
The brisk wind dipping
Then soaring up again.
A beautiful early spring
Day in southern Illinois,
Warm for this time of
Year but still cool
Enough for an old
Sweater I can get dirty.
I am unaware of events
That adults worry about
And free to run with no
Doubts or future fears
Beyond those of children.
Childhood should be
Like that for all children
Though every day cannot
Be so carefree and school
Looms ahead with boring
Drills and lessons too dull
To allow comprehension.
Once I learned to read
During the summer away
From classroom drudgery
I have always kept a book
Near me so as not to waste
Time when I could be reading
Mythology, fiction or history.
I had until eight lived in
My heart but books
Allowed me to
Live in my
Head,
Most of the time.