SORROW (To my mother) After silence, I reach for the book of swans. Priest's book, white swans and river take me over, when precious days were lent. "No end," I said, but I was wrong. After silence, I long and reach for the day that's gone. And in my eyes, I see white swans, river, priest's book and feel inside the flow of mother, now gone. After silence, when time means black days, a colourless haze of mist says: "Why death?" "Why death?" And I mourn in song, and reach for the book, priest's book, God's hand, mother's breath and look for white swans. River, take the sound of sorrow and send me milk and white swans. -- James Conway, born in Dublin, founder of Rathmines Writers in 1990.