Whistling Swans

At Oshawa on Lake Ontario

ritual processions of Roman waterfowl

fly over in augury. The child scrambles,

waving banners of arms and laughter

and calling, "Whistling swans are musical

like yellow." The child's feet, fierce Hannibals,

roll around me charges of elephant stones

and chase swans flying high in air.

I reach a grave among Roman arches

of maples where our pioneer forebear,

"The first white woman in this township born,"

lies on the green mound in Roman peace.

Beard on his brown face,

an Ancient-Briton groundhog peers.

Eastward rear barbarian clouds.

Ritual processions of Roman waterfowl

fly over in augury. Defeat and death

are incidents in this upcrowding glory.

What glory? Ages are lost; the child calls,

waving banners of arms and laughter

and chasing alarms of augurers,

"Whistling swans are musical like yellow."