On many spring days I wish that I
Could be a kite flying in the sky.
I would climb high toward the sun
And chase the clouds. Oh, what fun!
Whichever way the wind chanced to blow
Is the way that I would go.
I’d fly up, up, up. I’d fly down, down, down.
Then I’d spin round and round and round.
Finally I’d float softly to the ground.


Five little kites flying high in the sky
Said, “Hi!” to the cloud as it passed by,
Said, “Hi!” to the birds, said “Hi!” to the sun,
Said, “Hi!” to an airplane–oh what fun!
Then whish went the wind,
And they all took a dive:

A Kite

I often sit and wish that I
Could be a kite up in the sky,
And ride upon the wind and go
Whichever way I chanced to blow.


The March wind is calling,
         “Come fly your kite!”
The wind is blowing
         With all its might.

The kites are tossing
         In the sky.
The wind is calling,
         “Come fly up high.”

Kite Friends

One little kite in the sky so blue,
Along came another then there were two,
Two little kites flying high above me,
Along came another , then there were three,
Three little kites, just watch how they soar,
Along came another, then there were four,
Four little kites, so high and alive,
Along came another, then there were five.
Five little kites dancing ‘cross the sky,
What a sight to see, way up so high!

Jean Warren

Come Fly a Kite

Come fly a kite
And watch it sail
Across the sky,
Waving its tail!

Kite, Kite
Kite, kite, soaring high,
Reaching, reaching to the sky
First you’re high then you’re low,
Swooping, swirling, round you go,
Kite,kite, fine and free,
Dancing,dancing, just for me.

Jean Warren

Flight Fun

The shiny kite with arms outstretched,
Soared high above the trees,
It swerved and turned and circled ’round,
And danced upon the breeze.

If, when I put my arms outstretched,
A breeze would lift me high,
I’d flip and soar and circle ’round,
And race the birds that fly.

Martin Shaw

Kite Days

A kite, a sky, and a good firm breeze
And acres of ground away from trees.
And one hundred yards of clean, strong string–
O boy, O boy! I call that Spring!

Mark Sawyer

To a Red Kite

upon the sky.

Take the string
you need.
Ride high,

above the park.
Tug and buck
and lark
with the wind.

Touch a cloud,
red kite.
Follow the wild geese
in their flight.

Liilian Morre