The butterfly, the cabbage white,
(His honest idiocy of flight)
Will never now, it is too late,
Master the art of flying straight,
Yet has - who knows so well as I? -
A just sense of how not to fly:
He lurches here and here by guess
And God and hope and hopelessness.
Even the aerobatic swift
Has not his flying-crooked gift.
Flying Crooked
Robert Graves
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Poem topics: butterfly, god, hope, never, white, flight, sense, straight, gift, master, swift, guess, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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