Black Swan

Silver ripples on a midnight lake,
the air mist‑clad, the wind a whisper of footfall,
a lone feathered silhouette cuts the quiet water—
a black swan, whose graceful hush lights the dark.

Her plumage, darker than the night‑skirt of the world,
glimmers a quiet rebellion, a subtle revolt
against the obvious white, the gleam we all pursue.
A conjuration of elegance, a monochrome heart.

From the reeds she glides, a quiet, measured pace,
a sense of whispering poise that the Ayrshire mist holds.
She carries in her tail‑feathers a timeless sway,
the haunting echo of Lyrianps’ quiet pond.

In that small, kaleidoscopic existence lies a truth
for every nation that seeks the bright idea of rare;
for a black swan is a wave that unseen shatters
a dead‑end rope, a hopeful breath in timorous time.

The “black swan” model, weighty, speaks of the unseen,
the low‑probability calamity, the moment— a mythical return, a year's secret answer,
to our blue‑fiery world, as if a judge of justice.

Thus she, in the pool and in the theory, reminds us
to keep open eyes to the shadowed gems;
that among us, truth, still and daring, might lurk—
a somber, striking, beautiful ruin of an ordinary night.

A short ode written in British English, mindful of spelling and phrasing, to both the elegant bird and its symbol of rarity.