Swans of Bleu Pond

The Swans of Bleu Pond We loved there in Vienna one spring day as boating on the mirror of Bleu Pond we thought true love had surely come our way though time for love for us had scarcely dawned; your ruby smile was such a joy to see and won my heart so quick I couldn't think but when you touched my hand, there could't be more love than what you made my soul to drink. And when the swans came by, your finger tips were on my mouth, I thought that I could die until I tasted of your passioned lips that brought me back from where swans never fly. That summer's now a pleasant memory the swan song of a love not meant to be. Our muted friends, you said would never sing for they're not free to fly, and be their own, you said our love was that same shackled thing so beautiful, yet freedom's never known, and you would just as soon to early die than clip the wings of love you had for me and so the love we had, just you and I was only meant for us to set it free; and I, in love with love, and in my youth let loose my heart to soar with swans above who sought divining ways to search out truth complying with the need for knowing love. they still sail on Bleu Pond reminding me of what was never mine, and I set free. © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet