The Dying Swan

The Dying Swan

Boughs and branches in breeze they sway
Amidst the splendor of the sunless rays
Night has fallen from selfless grace
And beauty did steal the moon away

Reflections held your weary face
And etched it in a cold dark place
Streams of life so far away
Beneath the mirth of better days

As you lay upon the shore
Fading life before the storm
You heed the call of that caress
Of winds to herald your final rest

Now Autumn creeps in your veins
On the ground you left your stain
The soil where no flora's brave
Enough to grow upon your grave