The swan’s tale was once thought white,
Something more was a fiction,
A black swan not seen at night,
Nor in the day, ‘til nature’s predilection.
Together swans are a gaggle,
Known for beauty and for grace,
‘Tho noisy sounds as if a haggle,
Soul-mates show their familial place.
Beauty’s seen in white or black,
Aesthetics is not circumscribing,
The wondrous bird is free to tack,
A new course of travel worth imbibing.
Both swim and fly; they are abiding,
An easy move with no mayhem,
Nature’s beauty easily residing,
Achieved without ultimatum.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.