The night swans
The night swans
Soon night will come and more,
glide past my face with calm beauty
like swans on a lake,
a faint presence against the darkening shore.
With a silent flutter of wings
a rush of memories fills the wood:
silver moons like birds startled to the sky
and far below,
where once the treehouse stood,
stand I.
But now the pines cast shadows
green upon my lungs
and in the silence I can hear
the slow, rhythmic breathing
of the night
and faint hooves of deer.
Soon I shall merge with the stillness,
blend with the shadows,
sink into the dark, rich soil
by water’s edge.
Yes, I think death will come like that –
as a soft cry from heaven:
six white swans
emerging from the dusk
on a calm, still lake…
and I shall make seven.
– Chidananda Burke.
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