She called them down, the winter swans,
To gather on her flooded fields.
The final touch of Autumn sun
Made strings of pearls from lines of birds.
She whispered knowledge through the flocks:
A dew as soft as cotton grass,
She brought the sound of distant waves,
And samphire scented morning mists.
The fields spread out from hills to sea,
And on each field a thousand swans,
A thousand tundra tales to tell,
And with each tale she made a song.
They stayed through snows the Winter long,
Lamenting wilderness and sun.