DON QUIXOTE'S KITE

My new kite got stuck in a windmill, and round and round the kite went,

The kite has been stuck there sixteen years, and still, I give a mad vent,

The wood frame looks degraded,

The plastic  cover is faded,

I asked the windmill owner to retrieve my plane, he said "no"; he's no gent.

THE CHOPPER AND MY LOST, MANGLED KITE

I flew my kite on one windy day,

Then along came a chopper that cut it away,

The chopper-man gave me a smile,

While all the while,

My kite blew far, far astray.

I knew that my kite was forever gone,

For I waited up waiting from dusk till the dawn,

And, I feared once in the trees,

My kite would be mangled by breeze,

And, pieces spread over somebody's lawn. 

WHEN I WAS FLYING A KITE

When I was flying my big blue kite,
A skeeter gave me quite a bite,
The bite made me pull the string real tight,
And, I flew off towards the Earth's skylight,

Of course flying high was quite appealing,
Until, I hit the Earth's  great black ceiling,
Then, I had this real bad feeling,
That real bad cards to me, were dealing,

Finally, I started to mostly freeze,
First my fingers then, toes and knees,
And, although I was desperate to heave a sneeze,
My frozen mucus didn't rate a  wheeze,

At last a spaceship passed nearby,
I think that pilot could barely fly,
He let his spacecraft engines burn through my string,
Then I had to do that falling thing,

Down toward Earth I fell ever faster,
Toward my own personal disaster,
Seems a soft ocean landing I could not master,
For I splashed down on a birdbath made of plaster.