Classic Poem

Four years ago a flock of Trumpeter swans,
Flying north, flying proudly along the wind, flying high,
Circled down the aërial stairways of the sky
To that wide river of braided silver and bronze,
Niagara, in the cold water to preen their feathers and rest
With peace in each wild heart, and peace in each wild breast.
But fiercer than the winds they knew, fiercer than their hearts flying,
The cold river seized them, the cold river tangled their wings,
The braided river bore them away from familiar things
Haughty as dreams and destined like dreams to a mystical dying.