As graceful as the moonshine glows,
rare and dark as ebony rose,
this feathered fowl discreetly hides,
a secret deep in her insides.
For on her head was once her crown
and dreams before she let them drown,
she took this cloak, a sly disguise
to hide from her enemy’s eyes.
“Now who could ever love a swan?”
she asked, and she discovered one—
a strapping lad, about nineteen,
whose heart was good and soul pristine.
She knew that he would be the one
to break the curse, turn it undone,
and if she played her cards just right
she might just steal him off tonight.
For this one swan whose heart was black
as all the feathers on her back
connived to let naïve Odette
lay dying soon as sun was set.
