Flying Crooked

I love this poem. Flying Crooked The butterfly, a 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 guessAnd God and hope and hopelessness.Even the acrobatic swiftHas not his flying-crooked gift. Robert Graves ...
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