The Flight of Three Balloons

Like a three-leaf clover,
a group of three balloons floats away
into the cornerless sky, with puffy white clouds;
No sharp edges to rub against and burst.
There is pressure inside those balloons, pressure everywhere—
pressure pushing on the balloons, on me,
pretty soon they will pop.
What goes up must come down—and so they do
Down, down, to this earth.
Their entwined ribbons are fluttering, waving at me from afar.
I feel I should wave back, but I don’t.


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