Abe V. Rotor
A beautiful world, this scene to the young,
Faces on clouds, kites flying high,
Gleaming proud, resting on the setting sun.
While the trees sing, nests sweetly cry.
If for all the fish and Amihan breeze,
Fields aglow, the call of a songbird -
The clock should come down to hammock’s ease -
Comes a call urging to be heard.
Summer's not enough, transient is the game;
Starts with glee and ends with sigh.
Childhood soon ends, but never its aim,
Not the sky to make the li'l ones cry.
Guardians and mentors - they all before saw
The man, the child of years ago,
Sitting by the pond or climbing a bough,
His kite rising to heaven’s glow. ~