The Swan (To Victor Hugo) - Poem by Morgan Michaels
Andromache, you who fed the river with your tears
and saw your grief reflected in the flood,
It's you this mock-Simois reminds me of
Meandering along the
Newly completed square-
And my brain reels with memories.
The city we knew is gone-alas, the plan
Of a town changes faster than the mind of a man!
Here was a barracks of military men,
There, by those trees, a big-top and some tents,
Puddles where lawns and lawns where puddles, weren't,
All in a likeable crazy-quilt;
And over there- a zoo:
Once, as the day came on, I saw
Beneath a sky cold and bare-
Cleansed by chastening winds
A swan, that escaping its hut,
Drily padding the crushed stone,
Its gorgeous plumes trailing the ground,
Slip into a waterless rut;
Where, nervously dipping its wings in the dust,
(Remembering some primordial bay?) it
Opened its beak to the sky and brayed
'Rain, when will you rain? Thunder, when will you sound? '.
Sometimes, the heavens fatally blue,
I see it again, that poor swan-
Again, I hear its broken cry
Sung to an infinitely empty sky.
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