Geese would like to dance -
ballerinas in their hearts.
Always tip toeing
on the park lake – a mirror:
Am I beautiful? Am I?
Graceful necks aloft,
proud white breasts rise, fluttering,
eager in the wings.
Your voices raw, unlovely,
are not for singing. You birds
have other stages.
Cool wind’s curtains call you north.
Don’t cry for dancing -
fly in perfect symmetry.
You are beautiful. You are.
© Clare Kirwan
p.s. I accidentally posted a blog about scum here yesterday, instead on my BrokenBiro blog, so I moved it there - sorry for any inconvenience *blushes*
