When the lines are full of swallows
I feel a pang of sadness
Knowing then that autumn follows
Though spring will bring relief and gladness
*
This swirling mass of tiny forms
Along the wires they congregate
They circle and settle and gossip together
In preparation to migrate
*
Thousands of miles they have to travel
These tiny feathered creatures
Ancient routes they must unravel
Instinctively following terrestrial features
*
They sally forth so gallantly
These frail and fragile flying things
With nought to guide them on their way
But SATNAV and their wings...
*
Dangers and perils they daily encounter
Exhaustion, privation and thirst
But before they can relax and rest
They must cross the deserts of Africa first
*
Yet - these tiny birds that perch with ease
On phone wires, do not perch on trees
So this just makes me wonder too
Before those wires - what DID they do?
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