Swan Dreams Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

Today I saw a lovely view
Of pure and lyric style:
A lake with swans and trees in bloom.
I lingered there awhile.

White-laced gazebos; columns fair,
Rose grand from velvet green,
While evergreens of stately blue,
Lent grace to this fair scene.

Chorus
But it is just a painting, dear.
It is not real, you know.
Your mind is growing weak and dim
Distorting youth’s fair glow.

There was a time, so long ago,
When mother took us there,
With sister, brother, all in tow,
To see the swans’ wet lair.

That surely had to be the place,
(Don’t try to tell me no) ,
Before we grew and swam new seas,
Where swans will never go.

Chorus
But it is just a painting, dear.
It is not real, you know.
Your mind is growing weak and dim
Distorting youth’s fair glow.

It’s true I can’t remember it;
My childhoods’ memory dark,
Except from mother’s blissful tales
Of visiting that park.

The three of us are now quite old;
Our mother passed away;
Yet in a corner of my mind,
Swans always hold their sway.

Chorus
But it is just a painting, dear.
It is not real, you know.
Your mind is growing weak and dim
Distorting youth’s fair glow.

But I have proof. It’s obvious.
Just look up in the air.
Can’t you spot angels dipping down,
Three of them, over there?

I’m in the middle, don’t you see?
And brother to my right;
Our little sister on the left;
All bathed in childhood’s light.

Chorus
But it is just a painting, dear.
It is not real, you know.
Your mind is growing weak and dim
Distorting youth’s fair glow.