Formal Problem

The poet, in his garden, holds his pen Like a dart between two fingers and a thumb; The target is unfortunately blurred; He does not see as clearly as when young, Or, rather, doubt and nervousness obtrude: He dare not risk the unreflecting fling. How to convey the taste and texture of This sun-drunk afternoon? How can he sieve The essence of these greens, the grass, the trees, The mating scents, the way the clouds behave, And shape it to a pattern which might please The glinting intellect and hungry Five? And how include the aeroplane which slides No larger than a pearl across the skies, Its roar wrapped up in distance which conceals A figure masked and helmeted whose strong Finger stabs the button that resolves The poet's problem in a flash, and bang.