Carried Up Above The Crowds Poem by Mark Heathcote

A swan moves in a murmur then takes-off
First, she glides on a millpond gracefully
Next, she parts the waters into a trough
In that, moment very ungracefully,
But the next, thrust like a dagger dripping
She plunges headfirst into the waiting clouds.
What must it be like to be there sipping-
That thin air carried up above the crowds
On motorways never, having queued
Or been brushed aside; by some loud-mouthed louts.
Finding openings clear with certitude
Flight paths, into the heavens azure, sky
Pilot destiny, "what's to edify".