I half blew up a blue balloon

And left it, deliberately, untied.

Then... I let it go...

It was a childish piece of grandad fun,

Which William greatly enjoyed.

 

The balloon made a whoosh for the window,

Colliding, abruptly, with the double glazing,

Directing it up to the ceiling,

Farting out air on the way.

Anticipating its imminent death,

It made a sudden dash towards the door,

And, gasping out its last, plastic breath,

It sank, sadly, down to the floor.

 

William was, by now, in hysterics

He’d never seen such high jinx,

But grandad’s an eminent poet,

At least, that is what grandad thinks,

So, he wants all this fun to mean more.

 

He believes this balloon is a metaphor

Detailing life’s chronology,

By way of an analogy,

Of a journey propelled by hot air.

We can all reach the heights,

We can take in the sights,

It’s a time which we can share.

 

The termination, though, can be a pain

And it is over with far too soon!

 

“Come on grandad. Again! Again!

Half-blow up that blue balloon!”

"Yes, William, let's live this life again!"