Whether in the early morning,
With fog and stripes of light;
Or dressed in purple gauze
At first light;
And even winging away at sunset
On the tips of feathers —
September’s swan song is beautiful.
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Standing on the edge of the lake,
The water as calm as a mirror,
I spot swans
On the other side
And a bridge floating
Among luscious green reflections.
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A misty dawn
In lilac and blue;
A swan floating
Serenely through the mist;
As dawn ends, the fog disperses
In clouds made of pink tutus.
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A while back – before the ice melted on the lake —
Stormy pink clouds attracted my attention.
Among the reflected clouds,
I saw a feathered group of swans,
Enjoying the dawn.
They remained there for a long time,
As if frozen to the ice.
Later on, they were gone
And only their memory — along with the clouds —
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I do believe
The wings of the swan
Love the light of the setting sun.
“Sometimes I need
only to stand
wherever I am
to be blessed.” — Mary Oliver
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The rain clouds parted
To reveal a sky turned to copper
And a flaming sheet of water
For the swans to dance on.
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Let there be spaces…
… in your togetherness. — Kahlil Gibran
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