The Book I Wrote

I write and write,

In a book that's not right.

The cover boasts and brags,

The content breaks and bores.

I sit and write of a far off kite,

That flies and flutters with all its might.

It climbs up and goes down.
It takes leaps and it takes turns.

In a cloud it forms storeys and storms,
With a flair it chisels the air.

Till it reaches the end of its merry fair,
Until it reaches the top of the sky.

"But why," cried the kite, 
"Should sky be the limit?"

I said, "As went ageless fables."
And thought, now is the time to change the tables.

Who can tell the kite,
After the flight, comes the halt,
After the rise, comes the fall.

Instead, I scribbled on my heart, 
"After the fall comes the rise"

As I wrote and wrote, 
In a book that's right.