Swan Lake

A shimmer of the alpine lake
reflects her alabaster down.
Her perfect neck, though, wears no crown;
an instinct tells her what’s at stake.

A moment, and she’s poised to fly.
Her angel wings respond in kind;
beat mightily, but from the blind
a shotgun intercepts the sky.

She struggles for a beat or two,
still climbing as if hope remains.
The effort coursing through her veins.
Soon she might make it out of view!

But then she falls, no more ballet;
no swan to grace the alpine lake.
Blood gushes out in a red spray
and forms new ripples for her wake

Author notes: wc 102 image from Pinterest https://allpoetry.com/contest/2784287-Fantasy-1025 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9cNQFB0TDfY