As bitter as it sounds, you can go ahead and believe it’s true: every beautiful thing is equally ugly Just look at the swans, with their brine-stained wings They’ve returned from their winter leave to rebuild their nest, which was removed by the city who said it was an eyesore, made of sticks, trash, and other things Calmly they preen their feathers; no time to grieve! Already they are searching for new debris, they too must make their honest living Across the river, a car alarm screams: More! More! More! More! More!