Someone said “the death of a beautiful woman is the most poetic thing in the world”, I defenitely agree. And I also think the death of a pretty swan is a poetic thing, too. I ever saw a swan die, she spread her neck to the sky, singing a song that only I can understand, no pain, no sorrow, no struggle, but full of piece, full of dream. It seemed as if she was enjoying the death.
I was shocked and then I understand that she was expressing her dream, her love to the blue sky.
I couldn’t sleep that night, I thought I must write something for her. So I write this poem, for her:
How many dreams flown,
How many time passed,
I wish I could seize flying wind,
I wish I could fly in the blue sky,
Forever.
Time and time again,
The water is still flowing,
The sun is still rising,
Only me, a swan,
Just in my youth but going to die,
Die for the blue sky.
I pray a heaven waiting for me in another world,
So I can continue enjoy my life,
No pain, no struggle,
Only love, only mercy!
The end.
I hope that swan can hear I am singing for her, for her short life, for her dreams. If one day I am changed to be a swan, I also hope you will sing for me.
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great poem, moving and sad. by the way, why do you think you’ll die exactly at 75?