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My uncle helps me start her up She wheels through the sky like a bright blue bird Tearing the clouds apart like a bullet I feel the wind blast my face as I run to keep her flying Then she finally gets high enough to fly by herself Holding on tight, afraid that she’ll drift away The roll of thin nylon slips from my finger tips And uncle quickly catches on. He gives it back to me and now she flies again Until the wind subsides and I must begin again
Kite
I like this poem in particular because the first time i flew a kite was a very happy memory for me. That is why when i had to choose a memory this one immedietly came to mind. Poetic Devices: In this poem I included similes, internal rhyme and personification.
