Swan Princess

As if with swansdown my soul is lined,
It’s cosy and warm, yet unprotected
From Cupid’s arrows and wounded pride:
It’s ever restless… anxious and active…
The tiny plumelets rustle… A quill in hand,
I draw a fairy bird on a piece of paper:
I am Swan Princess from the far off lands,
Charmed long ago by a wicked captor…
I’ve got a gift of rhyming, I can fly,
I’m able to breath but sweetly fragranced air…
Do what you wish, but no witchcraft rite
Will ever bring me back to the gilded gaol:
I’m meant to live free in a fairy land,
To wait for a prince and his spell-breaking kisses!..
… I tread a thorny path through woods and sand —
My feathered robes finally dismissed.