As a child 
I used to see them
more often than nowadays
—floating free of some
child's hand, rapid speck
of disappearing red
against the blue, yellow
caught in the trees'
gnarled tresses. I'd lost
my own share long ago,
though the string might have
been tied around my wrist.
The ones we took home 
just sadly bumped
against the ceiling for a day
or two, before sinking to
the floor.  What for? 
But I remember watching
as such orbs of brief-lasting joy 
made a break for the open air.
A slip, an accident, and we
open-mouthed on the ground. 

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