Lir


LIR
Lonely, they sang
Music
Fit for a faery queen.
Trapped beneath the feathers
Lie children
Growing old.
Time rolls past
One lake becomes another isle.
The swan children cry
Deep in their hearts
For a stolen youth.
Their feathers tinged
With bitter grey
And sorrow
For the land they used
To know.
Nine hundred years
Dragged off their backs
Like oil, stubborn.
It is for them the bell tolls,
The swan children
Turn home.
Swapping feathers
For skin
And skin
For ashes.


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