The National Poetry Writing Month Challenge invites participants to write a poem about an animal that is mentioned in myths and legends, that can be seen as a metaphor for some aspect of human life; and, also, to include a spoken phrase in the poem. (At Napowrimo.net there's an example of a free-verse "poem" in which a black swan is seen, unrealistically to say the least, as a metaphor for a perfectly normal man who feels embarrassed by going postsexual. Pooh!)
Photo from Google, attributed to Wye Marsh Wildlife Centre. Swans of different species don't seem to crossbreed but they can form foster family groups. Mute Swans, which aren't endangered and are sometimes considered invasive nuisances in North America, have sometimes been induced to earn their keep in nature parks by rearing endangered Whooper and Trumpeter chicks (cygnets). As with humans, young adult swans often fly off with their own mates and never see their parents again, but swan foster families' loyalty seems to last as long as the young birds stay near their parents.
Fun fact: Mute and Trumpeter Swans have the same size range, but Trumpeters are more often at the larger end of the range. However, male swans (cobs) are usually bigger than females (pens), so Zeus, whose fatherly overprotectiveness earned him a sexless life with a foster daughter as a companion, was just noticeably bigger than his foster daughter.
These park swans' story can be read as a metaphor for several different things in human life. Meh. It is what it is. It's not a very cheerful story so depressive readers might want to read something else now.
The swan called Leda seems to like
The cob, her mate. When people hike
Around the lake, they always see
At least one of them. The islet she
Chose for their nest is far away
From all the other isles as may
Be found in this small lake. The swans
Swim blithely with their little ones,
One fore, one aft, around the lake.
They seem to pose when visitors take
Their pictures. Both are gentle, tame;
Mindful of sandwich ends and fame
They waddle, awkward on the land
As graceful in the water; stand
Close up, and let their necks be stroked
While snorking crumbs till almost choked.
--At least, that's how they did behave,
Before the cygnets hatched. Now they've
Gone quite mad with protectiveness.
The ducks and geese think they're a mess
And shun the swans, who were their friends
Last winter. With hatching, friendship ends!
"Just go away!" they always hiss
At friends one might have thought they'd miss
All through those long days on the nest.
The swans know that they have been blest
With a large brood, if not their own,
And, proud as monarchs on a throne,
Methodically attempt to kill
All who might make the cygnets ill
By breath, effluvia, touch, or bearing
Parasites that, by microbe-sharing,
Could harm a cygnet. Leda's not
Too strong herself. She limps a lot.
The cob Zeus in majestic ire
Lowers his head if any nigh her.
A friendly gosling wants to play
With cygnets, as with ducks it may.
Zeus really wants to drown the baby,
And he'd drown us, too, don't mean maybe,
If we swam ten yards from his brood.
He is not mean. He is not rude.
He only wants to keep his charges
Safe from whatever carrier barges
In close beside them. But too late;
The toxins lurk in his own mate.
Next year on the same lake we see
Zeus swimming in swan-majesty
Beside the last unmated chick
His Leda reared, before being sick
And dying where the water grew
Unfit to host more than a few
Of birds that overpopulated
The lake, the year they copulated.
He will not reproduce again
And, so, good-tempered he'll remain.
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