Little boy from ’cross-the-street,
Very straight and proud,
Blows the biggest one of all,
Rosy as a cloud;
Up it rises like a bird,
Trembles in the air,
Shines with all its soul for us,
Then is gone nowhere.
Sky has sent her sweetest blue,
Dawn has sent her rose,
River sends her laughter-lights,—
Don’t you just suppose?
Day has given clearness,—