Day seven and seven swans-a-swim …

I could not say that I had heard the sound

The swan makes as her final, farewell song

Until that fated Christmas came to pass

And I was gifted seven in full throng.

 

I never saw the beauty in a swan –

And rightly so it ne’er saw mine in me –

All poise atop the water it did flow,

And under, flailing limbs I could not see.

 

And likewise I was similarly made,

Composure, multi-facets I could show

But underneath I struggled all the while

To keep it so that no one else would know.

 

I hate the swan the way I hate the lies

And all the falsitude that it belies.

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