Walking the dirt road to the beach, <br />I hear a faint sound up ahead. <br />It grows in volume <br />as I move toward its source, <br />recognizing mournful cries. <br /> <br />Rounding the bend, <br />I see in the distance <br />white shapes <br />on a black background, <br /> <br />right where long ago I surprised <br />a bull alligator taking a nap <br />and he roared, just like a lion. <br /> <br />Four swans, buried up to their long, slim necks, <br />try to free themselves from the mud. <br />Their heart-piercing cries give voice <br />to the pain of all suffering beings. <br /> <br />Frozen in my steps, <br />I watch them struggle. <br />Who will free the swans, <br />Oh, who will free the swans?<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-dream-country/
