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Writer's pictureDarkling Thrushes

The Swans of Porcupine River

A light snow had stopped; beyond a briar, 

A pair of swans was preparing to sleep. 

Alert even then, they quietly disappeared, 

Behind some fallen logs, each watchful. 

 

He stood high, shook the snow from wings, 

Grown tired in the days' swim across Alaskan 

Porcupine River, just north in an Arctic 

Mountain woods, furling it pained him. 


He looked down a log at silver snow.

And his mate, the pen clucked softly as she

Turned-in beside him, paired waterfowl,

Their heads together yet, to sleep fitfully.

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