The butterfly, the cabbage white, <br />(His honest idiocy of flight) <br />Will never now, it is too late, <br />Master the art of flying straight, <br />Yet has — who knows so well as I? — <br />A just sense of how not to fly: <br />He lurches here and here by guess <br />And God and hope and hopelessness. <br />Even the aerobatic swift <br />Has not his flying-crooked gift.<br /><br />Robert Graves<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flying-crooked/
