A veritable whiz was Tom with a ball.
Whatever the sport, he excelled in them all.
Far from the basket, with a twirl and a spin,
He would always succeed to shoot the ball in.
In soccer, he zip-zagged, all in control,
Kicking the ball straight into the goal.
A birdie, an eagle, didn't compare;
Golfing for him, a swing-winning affair.
The sweet spot was his when he swung with his bat,
And sent the ball flying above where they sat.
One day he met Nigel, a small happy boy.
"Is that on a string some kind of a toy?"
Nigel replied," It's called a balloon.
And it can fly almost up to the moon."
Juggling a ball, Tom challenged with glee,
"Let's each have a try and see what we see."
Tom swung his arm round, round and around
And let his ball go with a frightening sound.
His ball rose up high, as high as a tree
So far in the sky it was barely to see.
Then right at the apex, it halted and dropped
And headed for land where it suddenly stopped.
Tom smiled at wee Nigel, and patted his head.
"Now, that's a great throw," he so modestly said.
Nigel had to agree that it was quite a throw
But also he noticed the fall to below.
He gazed with affection at his bright red balloon
And opened his hand to give it some room.
The balloon gave a wiggle, then started to rise
Higher and higher, up into the skies.
Nigel stood looking, his neck arching back
While up in the blue, going out of sight track
His balloon went on flying, flying and flying
With no never, ever a sign of it dying.