And this is what the madmen fear most
A girl with a book, a guy with a pen
They fear music and laughter and song
They fear thoughts too rash, flying drawn too high
-- I’ve heard they also fear paper kites
Fluttering all too gaily in God’s mild Summer sky.
Some of the kites they try to shoot down
Rejoicing in blood, forgetting their God,
But there will be spring.
We shall paint kites.
Flying higher and higher, until Fall
The more they fly, the safer they fly
They cannot shoot them all.
