*Elaine Harald*
This
May
Be
The
Year,
I Fear,
That
After
Many
A
Year,
The
Swan
Will
Not
Survive
To
Ride
The
Pool,
To
Effortlessly
Glide,
A
Reflection
Of
Itself
In
Every
Direction.
Small
Beneath
The
Glory
Of
It’s
Wings,
It
Softly
Sings,
And
No
Story
Can
Tell
What
It
Has
Seen.
As
Kingdoms
Rise
And
Fall,
The
Swan
Remains
Tranquil
Through
It
All,
Until
It
Slowly
Sinks,
Far
From
Shore,
And
Is
No
More.
May
Be
The
Year,
I Fear,
That
After
Many
A
Year,
The
Swan
Will
Not
Survive
To
Ride
The
Pool,
To
Effortlessly
Glide,
A
Reflection
Of
Itself
In
Every
Direction.
Small
Beneath
The
Glory
Of
It’s
Wings,
It
Softly
Sings,
And
No
Story
Can
Tell
What
It
Has
Seen.
As
Kingdoms
Rise
And
Fall,
The
Swan
Remains
Tranquil
Through
It
All,
Until
It
Slowly
Sinks,
Far
From
Shore,
And
Is
No
More.
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