My feathers are white

All tucked up like a kite

Although I fly end to end

But shuttle is a better word

With a huge but I do glide

Mouth always gaping in surprise

As I met drive my way

Furiously flowing in the air

The eyes I like 

But the hands are not

On my butt I get a wacky kick

Go flying in the sky

To reach the other side

My poor feathers seem ghastly picked

After so much thrashing nothing remains

Two ghostly weapons

Driving me insane

After a long drawn flight

I rest in black box tight