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.