The Hight of The Swan


In the night of a vivid day the swan came to the lake.
Bathing as usual.
It glanced at the dancing hills that were mercilessly juvenile.
While it glanced the white pure daisies turned green as if they were the swan.
Blowing and howling did the wind on their back but they were immutable.
The daisies became greener and greener.
The swan was alone and lonely it felt.
It felt the years that went by and it missed its youth.
Its feathers were tired and its soul was older than the oldest tree near the lake.
Suddenly a queer notion traveled its mind.
The hills had a hollow between them and that was what made them hills.
the swan traveled a long way until it came to the lake.
Its life wasn’t so different than the hills'.
Not every part of him was standing high.
Perhaps this is the only way the eye can see how high it really is.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem