A kite hovers,
on a stormy night,
the leaden drops;
drag it down,
the gale whispers
softly; to let go,
to give up,
to the flow
yet flimsy threads,
a thousand of em\',
intertwine and entangle,
to hold the kite,
to his life so dear.
death may be;
an enticing offer,
yet I can\'t sever,
these threads at;
my own accord.