I do enjoy writing riddle poems. This particular one I usually read without the title, which I will do now, and without the final word, but this time I’ll put in the final word.
Who dips, dives
swoops out of space,
a buzz in his wings
and sky on his face;
now caught in the light,
now gone without trace,
a sliver of glass,
never still in one place?
Who’s elusive as pickpocket,
lord of the flies;
who moves like a rocket,
bound for the skies?
Who’s catapult, aeroplane,
always full-throttle?
Sky-diver, Jumping Jack,
comet, bluebottle!
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