Nottingham, Early Spring

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

He stands alone where the hilltop leans,
A diamond kite stitched with silent dreams.
No crowd, no call, no need to belong—
Just wind and wonder, and a mind tuned strong.

Trainers scuffed from yesterday’s roam,
He charts the clouds like a map to home.
The string hums soft in his steady grip,
Each tug a verse on a paper ship.

He watches people—blurred and bright—
Their laughter drifting like morning light.
A dog chases shadows, a bus sighs past,
He catches the moment, lets nothing last.

Not one for noise, nor playground fame,
He writes in thought, not ink or name.
A poet not yet penned or praised,
But fed by motion, quietly amazed.

The birds above, the breeze below,
The way the world forgets to slow—
He sees it all, then lets it fly,
A boy, a kite, and an open sky.