The silver swan, who living had no note,
When death approached, unlocked her silent throat,
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sung her first and last, and sung no more:
Farewell all joys! O death, come close mine eyes;
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.

Orlando Gibbons

I realized when she stood at the door
dressed neatly and perfectly together
hair clipped back, scarf beautifully full around her neck
that I could come in
but never stay

I am not a tame thing I realized
as I noticed the mourning dove cooing
in the big tree above us
I am not all this order and appearance
I am the chaos of the sleeping tree
hair akimbo
uncaring of pants or scarf
shoes hopelessly scuffed from use
I am not what you are used to

You cheated she exclaimed, you cheated
as she ushered me out the door
I turned to say no, I had not
I never broke in on the altar
of gleaming wood floors
and vases full of pink flowers

I will admit in my look
but she cannot see it
that I love him and for a moment
wished I was home
but she closed the red door

silly woman he never lied to you
he has loved you all along
and you have no courage to just be
for me it would have been enough of a gift
to paint the world over

By the Corbyhawk herself.

corby

Lin Ling ( 1935- )

Endlessly sinking --
My wings into the waves of your eyes.
How much I hope,
How much I hope,
That we will sink beautifully down,
Into a kingdom forgotten by Apollo,

Where we will walk and leave no footprints,
Just as the rivers there do not rise in the highmountains
But originate in the ocean.
That breeze is no more a breeze.
The wood on the hill is no more
A wood on the hill.
We are no more ourselves.
We are dust.
We are everything.
Yet everything again, all in one brief glance
Will be denied all value.
Oh, how I hope. . . .



I dreamt of you and you decided to start breaking the rules.

The world's love runs thin.
Human love turns evil.
Rain strips, in the yellow twilight,
The flowers from the branches.
The dawn wind will dry my tear stains.
I try to write down the trouble of my heart.
I can only speak obliquely, exhausted.
It is hard, hard,We are each of us all alone.
Today is not yesterday.
My troubled mind sways
Like the rope of a swing.
A horn sounds in the cold depth of the night.
Afraid of people's questions,
I will swallow my tears
And pretend to be happy.
Deceit. Deceit. Deceit.

T'ang Wan ( 12th Century)