Reading Time: < 1 minute
Swirling high in the blue sky

their yachting wings bringing

them across Africa and Spain;

Swifts will soon be returning;

homing back to our village again.

Then I can only crane my neck

to follow them as aloof they fly –

low and high, quartering the sky.

They cannot share their world;

any love for them is always vain,

all they care for are bugs and air.

I can only watch while they soar,

leaving me below – lost in awe.



© D G Moody 2023