Poem 76 – The Rising Swan

A swan rising from the sparkling morning lake,
Mighty wings pounding the crystal shore,
A beacon of hope in the darkness perhaps –
Who could ask for anything more?
I care not for what hope to others the swan brings,
As it rises, leaving feathers on the water,
For I can hear that swan distantly as she begins to sing.


Dear readers,

Today’s poem is longer than Friday’s – I apologise for that cheap posting, but I was finding it very difficult to write then, and couldn’t find anything in my file I wanted to publish. But I like this one. It combines two pieces of folklore about swans, in case you did not pick up on them – firstly, that before dying the swan sings beautifully, just once, and secondly, that in the event of their life-partner’s death, some swans commit suicide. Recently one of a pair of swans in Regent’s Park, London, was killed, and the other was taken into special care to ensure that it remained healthy. Lovely animals, swans.

Kind regards,

The Hapless Neo-Romantic


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