The Swan

In the weeping willow’s shadows, Lies a golden afternoon, still, Cedar trees could take to the skies, Roots tangling softly across still, calm.

As the swan glides, the reeds stand out, I sink in this hypnotic chalky mist, I see through eyes of sorrow, Joy slowly turning into death’s kiss.

Sudden and bright, the sun descends, Watch its colors change - crimson to pearl, How I pity the swan that swims on, To the silent burden of this world’s swirl.

Each feather a sorrow, each beat of wing, A wish for a different life, they want to sing, And the lake murmurs in dulcet refrain, With nature our burden, our joy, our pain.

• Charles Baudelaire