a swan flies

a swan flies,

floating on a pillow

of impossible dream.

secret magic and comfort lies

and an ache of a none past fiction

this green and pleasant land.

a flash of white

in the morning grey

cold wet misery

unfurled by sudden majesty.

caught in the billows,

mind synced and memorised

and flying free,

in remembrance of mists

and mellow fruitfulness

now left to rot and decay.

the swan flies oblivious.

no sadness or sorrow

or weight of the world.

the swan flies regardless

of these human constructs,

these fabricated obstacles

we make for ourselves.

and in it's simple beauty,

suspended for a moment

in a waking mind,

the swan flies.