The Little Red Hang Glider

The little red hang glider

Framed against the gray blue window of the open sky

Propellers spinning, a blur

Two young children

All but joy forgotten, running, chasing

Yet forever behind the little red glider

Shrieking, carefree and exuberant laughter

And the dog

Leaving its game of catch

To frisk and bark at the little robin

The father running

A black remote in hand

And years wiped off his face

 He was a child among them

In their joy and fun

And still

The little red glider flew

Framed in the sky.