Choppers

Watch the grace in the blue-sheath skin
As the water dance continues, showing the power within.
Satin wings blur in a flurry of flight,
Catching the sun, reflecting the light.
The perfect blueprint for rising, rising up, up so high,
We copied it, yes, we got ours to fly,
But it's a clumsy steel shell, heavy and loud,
Nothing of which nature could ever be proud.
No balletic turns over a diamond-shot drink,
Or breezy-aired kisses sent over the brink.
The tiniest of dragons, your name rings true,
But no fire or smoke will we ever get from you,
Just a sweet pas-de-deux, played over the glade,
While we can only aim for a straighter-edged blade.