The Fieldstone Review

Living Water and Swan Song

These waters were alive
only yesterday,
the glory of spring,
as glowing white swans,
with diamond necklaces
and solemn eyes,
brought their children to the light
for the first time.
Tiny, ugly bodies
protected
under the thick muscles
of strong, snowy
wings.
They owned that water,
playing high, musical notes
in their tiny
gaping
throats.

But late last night,
the storm
brought the silence.
Those frothing, heady waves;
they killed them
all.

Now,
the water is still;
a black, inky mirror,
not a ripple
to mar that glassy surface.
Mother and father
have deserted;
stoic in their misery,
they carried the weight
of their loss
on feathered wings.

But the children remain.

Tiny bodies
float,
lifeless
on the river;
they spread
their stunted wings,
and they

fly,

sunk in the clouds
that the water
reflects.