The Kite

I look at that kite in Hampstead Heath,
the green green grass beneath, and I wa/onder.
Is it flying on a tether colouring souls
in this bad weather? Where would it rather be
if it could soar high and be free? "Tomorrow",
she tells me, "I'll cut myself loose, whatever
happens, there's no excuse. Up on a mountain,
down by the lake, sipping coladas
and a milk shake. I'll meet a wanderer,
he'll take me away. I'll be his muse,
and he'll call me Mae. Together, we'll sail
down to the south, getting lost
through word of mouth. Yes, yes, yes,
that's what I'll do, I'll start over
in a new land, Australia, even Thailand.
I'll do it tomorrow, someday,
maybe on Monday or on Thursday."

"I'll do it, I'll do it, I know I will!",
she shouted, disappearing behind
the hill.