• michaeldpoet 9w

    THE KITE ON ANCIENT AFRICAN OAK TREE

    I remember when it used to be
    The ancient African oak tree
    Gray old as the hills
    Good the windy whispering tills

    Those yore days for the kites
    They clove to some ominous heights
    Africans took to their mountain glare
    Then with little straw or no sigh we stare

    The kites on ancient African oak tree
    Signaled the clumsy northern spree
    Signs of yore in African unclear plane
    Silver belts satiric of silky terrain

    I remember when it used to be
    The kites on ancient African oak tree