I watched a little boy one day,
With string and kite in hand,
Climb up the meadowed pasture,
Upon my father's land.
Just a little boy,
But different from the rest,
He couldn't run or play football,
But he tried to do his best.
For under his arm there was a crutch,
And upon his legs a brace,
They almost hid his body,
But I could see his face.
A tiny face of maybe five,
With hair of gold and big brown eyes,
He watched his kite go flying by,
It soared forever in the sky.
Then as the sun began to sink,
And the moon began to rise,
I watched him carry his little kite,
Till he was out of sight.