Cygnet

I don't really intend to post a new poem every day, or even post every day, but I suppose I can for a while. I'll signify whether a poem is new or taken from the rather significant volume I wrote when I was younger. I wrote this today. 

Cygnet

Someone told her

when her tale was newly hatched

ducklings never become swans

A thousand pages later

the echo ripples still

across the mirror of her pond

For you and I, it is hard to see

why the story left stains

in the feathers of her wings

But she’s convinced she’s grown

into ugly duck

from ugly duckling

She heard that twist on fantasy

so many times

from where she sat on a heartless knee

she refuses to believe

anyone might have written

a different sort of ending

But I want her to know

when it comes to what I behold

I tell in every tale of her I’ve told

I’ve never seen a swan so lovely