I had a balloon,
a lovely balloon, big and blue and buoyant, but
I loosened my grip
and felt the string start to slip, slipping, slipped
Through my fingers
away to the big, blue sky as it hastened to rise, to soar, to ride the current
Flying away from me.
I really like the picture this poem creates. But I'm not sure whether I prefer this one or the second one.
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