|The Golden Land|
My daughter runs along the sand,|
A golden kite string in her hand;
She calls and waves along the shore
Till I can't see her anymore.
But through the thick and noisy crowd -
The cries and music blaring loud,
I still can see the kite of red
Mutely dancing overhead,
And know that she is running free
Away from them, and also me;
And that she longs, as I have done
To climb the skies above the sun;
To fold up small like a kite-string note
And slide along the magic rope.
And when she reaches the fragile cross
The string will break, and she'll be lost
To all the mortal, churning mass.
She'll wave as seagulls brightly pass.
Sailing there above the sea
She finds a freer way to be,
And reaches soon a golden land
And leaves me sighing on the sand.
|Christine Natale 2013 - All Rights Reserved|