Higher fly, my pretty kite,
   over distant towers;
paper-made, red, blue an’ white.
    all my fav’rite colours.

As up an’ up an’ up you mount
     on your way to heaven,
thoughts come, which I cannot count,
     of the times I’ve striven

Just to soar away like you,
      rising to a happier sphere
deep within yon skies of blue
      far from all de strife an’ care

You have got you’ singer on,
      let me hear your singing,
hear you’ pleasant bee-like tone
      on de breezes ringing

Wider dash your streamin’ tail
      keep it still a-dancin’!
as across de ditch you sail,
      by the tree-tops glancin’.

Messengers I send along,
     lee round papers of bright red;
up they go to swell you’ song,
    climbin’ on the slimber t’ read.

Higher fly, my pretty kite,
    higher, ever higher;
draw me with you to your height
    out the earthly mire.

From Songs of Jamaica (Aston W. Gardner & Co., 1912) by Claude McKay. This poem is in the public domain.