This poem is taken from PN Review 30, Volume 9 Number 4, March - April 1983.
Kite FlyingOn days of noisy wind that combs
The rippling grasses this way and that
As it passes, and tugs at clothes
With sly unbuttoning fingers
And takes the breath away, I think
How we would lie in some drowned hollow
While the slow kite wriggled in its stream.
How sad that some boys never learn
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 286 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 286 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
