I am a kite and you have the string.
Pulling me all sorts of ways on the wind.
I’m fighting to fly in the way that I should.
You pull me back in with an almighty tug.
So I have to give in and I rest on the breeze.
Then you unravel more string in your eternal tease.
North winds whip up fast though, in this neck of the woods,
and kites come down fast, with almighty thuds.