The Swan on The River
Oct 21, 2022
Friday, without Saturday
Saturday, without Sunday
Sunday, without Monday
Days without the chronicle
Storm is disappearing
Unequaled,
Years have passed, and the ship is coming in
From this place where I am standing
Begin to carve the whole page
Sand, stone, and water are just the same
As the Swan floats down the river with its beak folded away in the well between its wings, in the dreamy expectation
The Soul of the poet
Direct lighting to the center of the copses. Shimmering and the leaves start to appear bright green
Mother says
“you too, my dear”.
