The Hunter woke at 5 am
and stepped out of the door,
to the forest he was headed then
as he loaded his bow.
he searched until the sun set down
and dashed his hopes at once,
as he walked round and around
his thirst and hunger gushed.
downhearted and upset
the forest he left,
but then, in his village
two swans by the pond sat!
beautiful and white
loving and bright,
on the spot
an arrow was shot.
The weary hunter
laid his head at last
but a nightmare
disturbed his sleep, alas:
a tortured girl
approached his bed,
and a feather lies
in her little hand.
her beautiful eyes
stare and criticise
throughout the night
she cries and cries
what was the sin
of my white beloved?
tomorrow
come to the pond!
The Hunter woke at 5 am
and stepped out of the door,
to the forest he was headed then
as he loaded his bow.
a gentle swan,
white feathered tone,
waiting for the hunter alone.
it opened his beak
before the hunter could speak
it torn it’s own flesh to his eyes
and in his shadow it dives
everything is silent
everything is wild