Black Swan

Crickets stridulate as their summer dies,  
and so too their generation, while a black swan  
glides through reeds of a gentle evening  

to the chorus of a million love songs, identical  
as she is different in every way, to reflect and  
disturb the still water sheen,  

tiny ripples to crashing crescendo, standing out  
alone as does her lover who awaits the insane one  
in her blue-black splendor,  

and sunrise comes when his lips move to beckon  
her near, her quick eyes spying his prickly beard  
as his black swan comes to preen.