Monday, March 1, 2010
A lonely swan from the sea flies,
To alight on puddles it does not deign.
Nesting in the poplar of pearls
It spies and questions green birds twain:
"Don't you fear the threat of slings,
perched on branches so high?
Nice clothes invite pointing fingers,
High climbers god's good will defy.
Bird-hunters will grave me in vain,
For I roam the limitless sky."