It Turned Kite

It jumped from the ground.
The body of it in all its green and white leapt and
Flew into the wind.

It flew.
The tent flew into the air.
It turned kite and flew like a flea.

It flew, it flew, it flew, it flew.
The tent, it turned kite.
Well, it leapt from its stakes
And flew.

Like wings into blue
The green and white went and
The whole tent flew.
Picture wind carrying white strings
And tarpaulin into the sky.

It flew and flew and seemed to want
To break free of the ground.
Stakes were returned to their original posts
And their trials were set back on track.

Strings strained only for a few more moments.
For the tent which desired to be a kite
Flew again.

The metal structures lost thought
And those poles were stripped from sockets.
That tarpaulin assumed a roll shape.

It flew, it flew, it flew, it flew.
But the tent never flew in the garage.