The
Kite
When
still
a
village
boy
Far
beyond
the
pacific
Often
did
I
run
as
fast
as
I
could
Against
the
southern
wind
To
keep
my
kite
high
in
the
sky
Now
swinging
around,
ready
to
fall
Like
the
paper
bird
I
used
to
fly
I
saw
no-‐one
but
my
own
shadow
Trembling
non-‐stop
on
the
ground
By
yuan
changming
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