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A SWAN AT SHOTTERMILL PONDS
It was the Hurricane that brought him here
To seek a refuge in this quiet place.
He came from devastation, with such grace
Upon the windswept water, bright and clear.
His soft grey feathers told his youthful age,
And winter-long we watched them turn to white.
He was a consolation for that night
When wind raced through the country in a rage.
Mallards and moorhens circling round with care,
Accepted him as a mysterious guest,
Arriving at the furious wind's behest,
Seeking awhile their sheltered life to share.
One day in Spring he knew that he must fly,
So he forsook us, who had brought us joy,
A memory that time will not destroy.
The shining water still reflects the sky.
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