Swan Song
by
Thomas Blackshear


Swan Song

He stands superimposed
against the sunset a
single Indian but perhaps
something more of a
symbol of a long forgotten
world except by the swans
singing on their way

a tear trickles down
his old care worn face
as remembrances
dance in his mind
of ther old realms and days

when trees blanketed
the world as far as the
eagle could see as far
as the wolves could run
in their mighty packs

he misses their mournful 
cries their song of
freedom to their lover
the lady of the moon
who smiled down on
her children of the night

he remembers the night
and the oceans of stars
little points of light

or has he believed
little spirits guiding
the hunters home
with the gifts
provided by the
Great Spirit who
created the world

and nutured each
creature one by one

but the winds of
change blew coldly
as the tribe slowly
disappeared until he
alone remained
a living monument
to what used to be

and the swans fly
on into the sunset
not knowing or caring
about what was and what
will never be again

silently the old
Indian watches
wondering just who 
has received 
the greatest gift

Paul Vernon Deffendall
February 20, 2001


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