Golden Swan

There is a
single golden
swan
who stands
apart
in the pond
the others
circle 
with quiet
grace
so soundless
I feel like screaming
just to know it is
real
Haste sits
with crossed-arms
on the bank
it has no place among
the feathered angels
and still the others
orbit him
the gilded one
born
of lily flowers
and snow flakes
but once when I 
went to watch
he was gone
a single shining
feather
left crooked
on the water
and a fox 
stared cold and grim
from the bushes on the bank
but the other swans
marched themselves from 
the water
through the bushes
past the fox
over the mountains
and they found themselves
another golden swan