The Kite

Accept it, son, this little kite,

made of stick and "Japanese paper,"

good toys, red, white, blue,

with your name in the middle there.

All I have to do is ask before flying

this train will weigh you down,

the end and the head are just fine

without being moved or inclined.

Then blow the air, bring it out

and above let fly;

but the rope is too tight for you, son,

and might be swept by the strong wind.

Love it or not, someday you are

will be tempted to wrestle;

fight, but remember,

the victor is the noble heart.

And if your chair is ever going to be overpowered,

be carried away by others or fell apart;

in the event of never coming back,

have mercy on us.

Life is chaotic: fragile, mischievous,

snatch and snatch everywhere you wear….

Oh, turn around and give it back to God,

before continuous groundwater would subside