The Solipsist

I was the swan singing upon his last day —
White feathers shown, bone-guarded eyes were blue;
Winged but isolated, me, imperturbe,
Taking a dim view.

Not so young as before, nor old and stoic
As I will be, if sound in lung and cell;
Wheezing my rimed reactions, me, allergic,
Talented as well.

My creatures formed in meadows where they caper;
They, the unborn, comprise a dreaming sum,
For I am God to this life, me, world-shaper,
My kingdom come.

No Phoenix burned, no second spring was giving
The swan his song, nor any flight renew,
And when I join the sleepers, me, unliving,
The world dies, too.