To the Graceful Swans

To answer your question: “Why in the world do they join the choir I'll never know”
 
Henry David Thoreau said it best, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”  
 
Everyone has a unique song inside, my vestal  
fidus Achates friend
But many just carol along with other carnies
to follow the latest trend
 
But birds of grander plume, often  
sing alone
while pigeons nibble street crumbs  
to elevate their throne
 
Contented fowl sing for themselves, and often  
sing it proud
while street pigeons  
warble, whine and serenade the crowd
 
Others cling to melancholy, and drift away  
because their wings are too thin  
to stay  
airborne on a windy day
 
While the sweetly-winged, fly across the sky
to the upper heights  
high above the chicken coup, where they can't be pecked
because chickens can only roost
and wreck
what they find in lower branches  
 
But there are swans on this lake too, who glide  
across the clear water's blue, and give  
me quarter  
from pecking hens
 
My well-spring in the wilderness,
this song is for you