Swifts
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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
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