In the Texas afternoon he will fly

His kite way up in the western sky.

Like a little boy with the string

He loves the sight of this thing.

Soaring in the open breeze it goes

Ever higher to where heaven knows.

He runs along the meadow grass

Thinking of his childhood past.

When his kite crashes to the ground

He searches until it is again found.

Broken dreams he holds in his hands,

But fixing his kite is in his plans.

Weeks pass and then the kite arrives

Restored and given back new life.

Once again he takes to the field,

And thinks to himself, "What a deal."

This man with the kite runs in the wind

Him and His wife together are my friends.

They stand in the purple painted sunset