Walking the dirt road to the beach,
I hear a faint sound up ahead.
It grows in volume
as I move toward its source,
recognizing mournful cries.

Rounding the bend,
I see in the distance
white shapes
on a black background,

right where long ago I surprised
a bull alligator taking a nap
and he roared, just like a lion.

Four swans, buried up to their long, slim necks,
try to free themselves from the mud.
Their heart-piercing cries give voice
to the pain of all suffering beings.

Frozen in my steps,
I watch them struggle.
Who will free the swans,
Oh, who will free the swans?

Max Reif

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-dream-country/