The Island of the Black Swans

Before my entrance to their magic realm
A pensive lake spreads into shimmering haze,
Then, tethered, two approach; they overwhelm –
With beauty, strength, cob whiteness, they amaze.
We land upon an island in their lake –
They signal that my foot should fall right here;
And as they wait behind, alone, I make
Towards a chapel looming very near.
Inside the gloom, a cobwebbed candle waits
Upon perusal of an open book;
All this – dream candle, gloom, and book – creates

An invitation for a closer look.
I read: “We left this place on Whitsunday;
Come worship us in Oz when end of May.”