The swan
comes
gliding
on cold
autumn waters,
o Leda
beware not.
What is the worst
a swan
can do
a man
has yet to do?
That king
that lies
drunken
on your
bed, his
rough touch,
and his
quick
grunting
that brought
his mortal
spawn
forth
from your
womb,
o Leda -
what is
the touch
of a plumed
swan
compared to that?
The swan
comes gliding
on dark autumn waters -
o Leda,
stay
among the dying reeds,
the world
of men
has faded away.
20.10.2026
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