Pennage Serendipity
In shrouds a stretch of river there beneath
The overhanging limbs of dark, dark trees
(The Thames itself blocked out from light like death)
Is suddenly a space where swans at ease
Are floating like the souls of angels on
The surface of the universe. From them,
It seems, a sheen of glory spreads its dawn.
It shines as if the flowing, lustrous hem
Of Christ is offering archangel health.
The sheath of wetness glows because of white
Wings, perfect necks—and feathers spread their wealth
Across the current. Darkness feels the smite
Of wonder there across its black silk skin.
The swans push out a therapy for sin.
WOW!!
I never think to check for comments here. Sorry. This poem would not have been written except for you because I had this experience travelling to London to be with you. so, thanks for that.