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They floated untethered. Strings dangled loose at the ends.
Free to rise into the aether, if they could only find a way
To escape the weight of their own skins. Doubled over,
Compressing gradually as they hover just above
The pavement, drifting like asteroids, some nearly
Completely collapsed, lying in lumps. Blanketed
Were the council strips with needles, but no pines
Lined the streets. Their eyes were closed or peering.
They were as they were the day they were born, except
For their tattered appearance. Deflated. Air escaping.

In the years that came, what remained was swept away.
Where did the balloons go?