The Little Balloon

So excited he was, 

For finally he was, in the hands of a little girl

Earlier, often he felt dejected, 

As everyone present, flew away 

in the hands of smiling sweet little children.

As everyone went by; the pink, the yellow, the blue, the orange, 

He questioned his worth a little by a little.

But the little balloon had still hope,

And patiently awaited his turn.

Now that atlast he was, 

He felt his life purpose had been found,

And his worth- refound.

Through the breeze he galloped, 

As would a sprinting horse

in his master's field. 

He sighted below the little girl 

who was beaming with joy,

in thought of a balloon so seemingly coy. 

Walking they were, when the tiny girl stepped against a pebble and tripped,

As her shy fingers let go, 

The Little Balloon

He roamed in the wind,

Above the emerald grass

Oh so glum. 

For he felt, as he was aware, he has failed his only purpose in life.

High and high he flew, in the vast blue sky

With unnoticeable but surely true,

Droplets of tears rolling by.

Thankfully, he finally realised,

That he was free! 

The whole world was his to roam! 

Drawing in the scent of the freshly bloomed flowers and the mesmerizing aroma of the bee's honey, 

He went by. 

Now he was, 

but from within, happy. 

Now he was, a horse in a field, his own.

Unlike many poor others, the little balloon realised that the way in life isn't always the one already carved by others, but by own.

That a purpose is found gradually,

 not always shown oh so clearly.