Swans
They appeared
over the dunes,
they skimmed the trees
and hurried on
over the dunes,
they skimmed the trees
and hurried on
to the sea
or some lonely pond
or wherever it is
that swans go,
or some lonely pond
or wherever it is
that swans go,
urgent, immaculate,
the heat of their eyes
staring down
and then away,
the heat of their eyes
staring down
and then away,
the thick spans
of their wings
as bright as snow,
their shoulder-power
of their wings
as bright as snow,
their shoulder-power
echoing
inside my own body.
How could I help but adore them?
How could I help but wish
inside my own body.
How could I help but adore them?
How could I help but wish
that one of them might
drop
a white feather
that I should have
something in my hand
a white feather
that I should have
something in my hand
to tell me
that they were real?
Of course
this was foolish.
that they were real?
Of course
this was foolish.
What we love, shapely and
pure,
is not to be held,
but to be believed in.
And then they vanished, into the unreachable distance.
is not to be held,
but to be believed in.
And then they vanished, into the unreachable distance.
~ Mary Oliver ~
(Reference)
Web archive of Panhala postings: www.panhala.net/Archive/Index.html
To subscribe to Panhala, send a blank email
to Panhala-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
To unsubscribe from Panhala, send a blank email to Panhala-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com