Kites (an unfinished sketched idea for a poem)

when we first flew kites
upon the summer’s sighs
before the world turned to face
the dark of autumn skies
no cloud could reach our souls
that drifted with those sails
laughing along the breeze
on gaily coloured tails
but now the kites are lost
ne’er to glide once more
and just memories remain
with winter at the door.

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