I came across the brooch years afterwards,
drowning in the depths of the drawer
and took it up, feeling it like a jewel.
The stream flowed deep within the crystal
and the swans swam proudly.
And as I gazed Ladislaw came to my mind,
with all his peasant friendly force,
and certain knife carving, whittling away.
I felt the clash within his clumsy elegance,
understand as never before how his art,
may endure, not in bronze, but in Perspex,
swans in perspex
I gave it my love as a first gift,
a symbol of grace and of serenity.
But for old Ladislaw exiled from his home
like many Polish Air Force,
trapped in the time and the events of war,
with no ending, except in beauty
it was a threnody.
And now I see:
What then I would not,
brash as I was with young ego.
I see the sad contours of the Swans,
and hear his Swan Song.