Leda
Tell me again,
What the wild swan sounds like.
Not that sneaky god,
But the one that loved her
And dreamt of feathers to flesh,
Mouth to laughing beak.
How sad she must have been
That he wasn't really a swan;
With elegant neck,
And blood beating wings,
The gift of flight.
When she found a man,
Spoiled by his own radiance,
No wonder her daughter
Broke the world's heart.
That disappointed beauty,
That secret song.
No comments:
Post a Comment