Kids taunted as he ran

Through cobbled streets clutching onto a

Blue plastic bag that fluttered, feathered, blew

In the oncoming rush of air.

 

His concentrated brow, furrowed, mystified

As his attempts to reach

The sky and stars, the wide blue yonder,

Fell to earth with the same bump

He did as his legs tired.

 

Toys were few,

But dreams were free as –

the wind, the birds, the tall tales

He heard of angels, cloud dancing and cities in the sky.

Icarus knew his blue plastic wings would

One day work.

 

The found Icarus Smith hanging from a tree,

Up by Potter’s Field,

His blue plastic wings tight

Around his neck, his face pale,

Smiling as he flew.

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