the lesson

I drew on hard experience once, to write
a poem: it went like this: "a man flew kites
professionally, for fame and gain, in tournaments
from Gascony to far Japan, from Africa to Timbuktu
wherever kiting contests ranged,
and kites were flown for gain, he flew
but somewhere in the back of it, he said
'I've lost the plot, somewhere. I've held too tight
to too-taut twine, my soul's kite's tether
snapped mid-air, it blew off on
a gale-force wind - I swear
I haven't seen it since!
I've lost the reason why
I flew!' he cried aloud, chagrined, and winced.
'I have to get back to the fun
of it,' he said, with gleaming eyes,
and thus refreshed - he scored 1st place!
The Million-Dollar Grand Kite Prize!"