Ah, yes, the swans.
I have seen them all my life
but not until I crossed the Charles Bridge at night
did I notice their pearly wings
in black water, lit by moon’s light,
angels of the night.
This old city breathes heavy.
Its green domes and hundred spires are old now
its statues heads hang low now
from their gothic roofs, they’ve seen
this city’s heart break
a few times now.
I breathe heavy.
My heart, too, has ached.
So I follow the stone roads, listen to their sighs
as I follow golden torch light
to the river each night
to see the swans.