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.