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