Like us, whose toil is ever incomplete,
a weary progress made on hobbled feet,
ungainly limps the swan across the land.

Like us, whose death is fearful letting go
of solid ground on which we daily stand,
he settles anxiously onto the flow

and flux of waters. In this altered state,
the dipping waves are glad to bear his weight:
a gentle, yielding service they afford.
Each moment more majestically assured,
secure in silence, as on friendly seas,
he deigns to glide, unruffled, at his ease.