Flight
Feathers on flippers are not just for strippers
Gaggles of geese are more willing to bite
Seagulls are soaring at four in the morning
Sweeping the sky for the bread of the night
Flight is a fashion of fabulous fortune
Forming a frothing of fitting respite
Feeding a frenzy of phony redemption
Forcing a future of feeling uptight
Fillies are frisky in fields of clover
Mares are the mothers of millions of young
Stallions are stomping the mice in the meadows
Morbidly mashing the minions of dung
Flight is the first and the last of our purpose
Singing the spiritual sprouting of wings
Finding the factual, minding the actual
Proving the practical pleasure of things
Many are mapping a flight to the future
Mincing the meaning of making a trip
Joyfully joining the jolly-good fellow
Flouting the fancy of letting it rip.
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