Spring
On my open window
hangs a kite with a broken string.
The shining nylon thread
fluttered and fluttered in the spring breeze.
(Kite
Kite
Who is your little master?)
I guess the child flying the kite
It must be both joyful and disappointing;
His kite once flew up to these twelve floors
But it hangs upside down here and drifts in the wind.
(Kite
Kite