Salty pillow tight against my chest
filled with feathers of an empty nest.
A sweet dream that never lets me rest.

**** the day I saw that swan,
who'd have said it'd be the one
that would teach me how to fly
yet remind me how to cry.

I often pray it would just stay,
but it must fly and fall and play.
To hold it even for a while
would fold it's wings and bend a smile.

I wish it had chosen to lay on my shoulder,
but if it had, it would never grow older.

It could have been mine, but only tied,
and then I'd know I had just lied.
Like nature and all that's wild,
the best coffee is strong not mild.

Awake and free to think of flying
for if I'd kept it, we'd both be dying.

Now I am free to wait again,
no little chicken no grounded hen.
Maybe a swan can learn to love
the one that acted like a dove.