Fixed to her pike, plain pairless sock,
Can fill, inflate and fly.
Can flutter, dance, can live a while,
Can stretch and touch the sky
But at a whim, such highs'n'lows,
Outside all her control,
Unpredictable! A sudden shift
And she will faint and fall
And limply hang, a crumpled piteous cloth,
Will wait and pray for the next gust
To toss her violently.
And flap, so stretched and straining,
Feeling at last alive...
Worth the harsh wind's tearing
To fill, inflate, and fly.
Written for school mag competition aaaages ago... Just foung it there...
Oh, If you're wondering, I didn't win.
(Everyone said it should have, though! *gloat*)