Swan
A swan I know
who lived nearby
amongst green rustling reeds
I found the other day
and saw she was dying.
She was leaning her great vanilla breast
upon the sandy shore
her neck arching outwards as
she sang one last mournful note
of distressed and haunting quality
as I gently stoked her stricken form.
Her eyes met mine and her great head
rolled quietly to one side and I knew
that she would sing no more.
I held her close to me just mummering
sounds of comfort. Then I cried.
Oh farewell my white beauty
what joy and grace
you gave to me.
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