I've finally got another one for you; another of Charles Baudelaire's splendid poems, accompanied by an illustration by yours truly. This one equates the poet with an albatross; the best flier but rubbish on land. Or something to that effect.
Often when bored, the sailors of the crew
Trap albatross, the great birds of the seas,
Mild travellers escorting the blue
Ships gliding on the oceans mysteries.
And when the sailors have them on the planks,
Hurt and distraught, these king's of all outdoors
Piteously let trail along their flanks
Their great white wings, dragging like useless oars.
This voyager, how comical and weak!
Once handsome, how unseemly and inept!
One sailor pokes a pipe into his beak,
Another mocks the fliers hobbled step.
The Poet is a kinsman in the clouds
Who scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day;
But on the ground, among the hooting crowds,
He cannot walk, his wings are in the way.