The Swan
The eventide is sombre,
And the darksome shadows long,
Beside the lake the rushes shake,
As twilight sends its song.
The swan is gliding graceful,
With her form so finely made,
Her languid pace through silent space,
Like music unafraid.
Her love of movement lingers,
In the ripples spanning wide,
Her perfect ease below the trees,
As water skippers glide.
Her wings enfolded snugly,
Like the raiment of a queen,
The feathers shroud her person proud,
In water kept so clean.
The moon above, her monarch,
And the stratosphere her god,
Such stately white by shades of night,
She rears a loving nod.
No loneliness disturbs her,
For she lives in paradise,
Her humble soul perfected, whole,
And pure as virgin ice.
🦢
adamdaniel 