"Don't bother, they're here."
I love old songs.
Ever wonder where those balloons of celebration wind up after being released into the endless smile of an English sky?
Back in 2016 I wrote a walking poem, titled "Everyday Prayers":
Up from a brightly lit party a balloon of celebration soars
Into a night of smiling gods
And lands here
In this field
There are no cattle
And over the weeks it disappears