Fifth Edit: The Swans in Wentworth Park

[makeshift]

Hey Richard, I think this edit is most definitely an improvement. I still think you can work out a better ending! The first stanza is the strongest for me, and I'd like the poem to end in the same visual world as that one. I admittedly know nothing about swans but I could very easily believe that a swan would leave its injured lover, I don't know if it has to be something your "compelled to envision" imo that bogs the poem down.  Ofcourse, just my 2cents. Thanks for sharing ^_^

First Edit:

The Swans in Wentworth Park

One wing bloodied, mangled; This is a pretty shocking opening, probably even more so if I hadn't read the original 
its exposed bones a different white than the rest. I like this detail, I like it more then "bloodied, mangled" and wonder if this couldn't some how replace that. This line needs the previous line to know we are talking about the wing, but otherwise I think this guy supports more weight. 
The other wing open, Probably read this too many times, but open makes me think of the exposed bone of the previous line. I understand the wing is like sprawled open trying to catch wind, but the previous lines describe a wing that is broken open. Not necessarily a  criticism, more a thought. 
begging the breeze for elevation,
but its feathers are denied
the blue of the sky. These four lines seem most directly taken from the original and appropriately so imo. Its a clear sentiment. 

The indifferent ground
only offers support through happenstance,
while I
can't look away. The first stanza is so much more visual then this one, it leaves me wanting a bit more. I do appreciate the personification of the ground. Happenstance does vaguely bring me back to the  "Webbed feet firmly" of the original poem. Im thinking stance like a football player or something.

I make eye contact
and I'm compelled to envision its mate,
flying away alone.
Its heartbreak more potent than my own dreams. Idk about "dreams" Its a very abstract word, and a word you hear a lot
 

Original:

 The Swans in Wentworth Park

Webbed feet
firmly on the ground.
Feathers denied
the blue of the sky.
One wing open,
begging the breeze for elevation.
The other wing lifeless:
bloodied and mangled.

Its eyes look desperate,
while its mate
flies away,
soaring
higher than a dream.