Classic Poem

The flaw is, I'll admit,
that all we call beautiful
in nature (saving yourselves
my dears) is unaware of it

and would not comprehend
why men have died at times
for wolves, or whales — futile
though that be, in the end.

Scientifically speaking, no
glory is lost, then,
in one prize falcon, fried
for lunch (in Boccaccio).

Of course, scientifically
speaking, there's no story
either — an equal flaw
that side, if you ask me.

Or don't ask. Even so,
nobody proved to me
bluebirds were beautiful.
One flash did, against snow.