A black swan moves through silent streams,
With wings of night, it haunts the dreams.
It wears its sorrow, cloaked in dark,
A soul that drifts, lost in the arc.
But there, beside it, pure and bright,
A white swan dances in the light.
Its feathers shine, its heart is free,
A symbol of what good can be.
Two swans that glide, yet worlds apart,
One carries shadows, one a heart.
In every soul, both dark and pure,
The swans of fate forever endure.
