Flying Crooked

The butterfly, a cabbage-white,

( His honest idiocy of flight )

Will never know 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.

 

Robert Graves

 

Done