|Color The Wind|
I saw an old man just today,
Who looked worn and weary from life.
A quiet sorta fella
Who seemed beaten down by his strife.
But as he passed the park that day,
He turned to the lake to see
Why there were so many people there,
Caught up in some reverie.
He stared at a multitude of kites,
Looking all feathered and finned;
Dancing across the open sky,
As they gracefully colored the wind.
And at first he just stood there stoically,
Watching the scene unfold.
Questioning why so many people
Would be flying kites in the cold.
But then, suddenly there came a birth of a smile,
And a twinkle that entered his eye.
All because some very special people,
Were determined to make their kites fly.
And I knew as he slowly turned away,
And reluctantly began to depart;
That deep within his tired soul,
Those kites had touched his heart.
|David Okerlund 2010|