You find them in peculiar spots
Hidden in your sock drawer
Or under your bed
They lay away, hidden and forgotten
Rendered useless in our busy world
They lay crumpled, waiting,
to be thrown in with the trash.
But on windy days, when the sun is shining
We tie the thread to hold them,
And let the wind fill them up.
So they soar above our heads,
Children giggle and laugh,
As they watch the discarded plastic bags,
Fly high as dreams done right.
In the form of a homemade kite.