a poem

The Black Swan

In Bruges, where cobbled streets entwine,A special visitor, rare and fine.Whispers trailed its graceful glide,In a city, where lots of secrets and shadows reside.
Feathers dark as the midnight sky,A regal presence caught the eye.Silent ripples marked its glide,Through canals where dreams abide.
From distant realms, it made its flight,Seeking Bruges, a culinary delight.Whispers echoed in the air,Of a swan with an adventurous flair.
In Belfry's shadow, it found its nest,A connoisseur on a noble quest.To savor tastes that legends sing,In the heart of this historic spring.
A special swan with a refined taste,In Bruges, its memory embraced.In every dish and winding lane,The echoes of its visit remain.
The city puzzled, in curious despair,The black swan vanished into thin air.No trace remained, no feather or sign,A phantom visitor, lost in time.
But then one day, a miracle occurredThe black swan returnedIt brought with it a mateA happy family it had create
Bruges, with joy, welcomed the guest,The black swan's presence, a tale of zest.A reunion with ripples, a tale to declare,The mystical black swan, back in our canals, back in the air.
Through the ages, the legend reborn,In Bruges, where enchantment is sworn.The mystical black swan, a celestial hymn,In the heart of the city, its return, a seraphim.