Well Versed In The Weather

A child's kite
Searching for the wind
Scarlet red against the pale blue sky
Seeking the currents of air
Twisting, turning
Soaring, diving
Held only by the reality of string
From flowing with the breezes of time.

Where would be your destination
Should I cut you loose?
Blue waters or the brown earth of spring,
The last drift of winter snow.
But I cannot cut your string
No more than I can cut mine.