Poem: "Flight of the Swan".

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