The Death of the Swan
By
Dr. G. Rauf Roashan
In the old country, a vocalist of miraculous voice
Sang a sad song of people’s choice
Sang he the song of the swan’s death
And people listened holding their breath
Flowed tears down their cheeks
People of plains and of mountain peaks
Sang he, “Heard it I that when it is time for the swan to pass away
She would ride a wave to a spot far away
“So her mood she would atone
And let her sole fly alone.
“Heard it I that when it is time
She would float sitting on the wave
As there is no need for the bells to chime
And that water for her is the chosen grave.
Miraculous was her birth
Miraculous must be her death
As one night she hatched near the bank
So she would, on another, die in the river’s flank
Heard it I that when it is time for the beautiful swan to pass away
She would ride a wave to a spot far away
To die alone
And to let her spirit be flown
Up high in clouds as fine
As her white feathers it would shine
The white clouds would float in heaven
For her pretty soul it is a given
On the night of her death
Riding on a wave of beautiful breadth
She would float away
To a spot far away
I have heard it said
It is a story soft and sad
From water she came
To water she goes to finish the game
O my reader,
Shed no tear
Life and death are here
To bear