Iphigene here. I wasn’t so sure what to post today, but as I skimmed through my poetry books, I found this poem by Robert Graves. It’s short, simple, but true. I’m sure that this little poem is more than just about the cabbage-white butterfly. The Poetry Friday host this week is Diane at Random Noodling.
by Robert Graves
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 guess
And God and hope and hopelessness.
Even the aerobatic swift
Has not his flying-crooked gift.
In an unposted letter of 1933, Robert Graves wrote that scientists “fail to understand that the cabbage-white’s seemingly erratic flight provides a metaphor for all original and constructive thought.”