Look, the lake blooms with late roses.
Look again, you'll see they're the bodies of swans.
The trees continue their slow change to colors,
red, gold and orange, soon they'll be gone.
The lawn's on green fire, can't be any greener.
Soon, there'll be a chill in the air. Meanwhile,
the swans unpetal their plumage, paddling
their way up and down the long lake. And we,
who are neither migratory or native, feel a lift
as they loft themselves into the sky.