Due to slow typing capacity, I'm still working on my next prose post. In the meantime, and in accord with the Swan theme, here's a little poem.
"Flight of the Swan"
This time, I know I am going to fly,
Sailing on impeccable white swan-wings.
My freedom, bubbles rising through water,
Is a beautiful and fearful thing.
Why is it that I have no sense of ruin?
When I see a red sky, I think only of morning.
My feet leave the ground,
Aerodynamic feathers stretch for breeze.
How do I know I am meant for flight?
The chick inside the egg dreams of blue vaults.
The blue lake mirrors my passage
One cloud among others.
-- Ethel Leona Futo