A song of swallows dart about the airs
They ever sing of newly risen day
And chime upon a golden morn their cares
So charming seems their ease in finding play
O’er winter fields and rills in wheeling flight
Or eve’ning's glide in swift enchanting grace
And finding free unfurled their feathered sails
May fight a-sway on gusts in stormy plight,
Yet ever yearn and find divine embrace
In yonder blue or leafy wooded vales—
Or muddy nests neath corrugated grooves
A mass on purlins perched, like Sunday pews
Inhabiting eaves under covered rooves
On stringy ends of cable-ties or screws
From whence they roam oft, perhaps twice a day
Or more if prey is provisioned by chance
Their throng swooping with choreographed speed
Like Spitfires surging where enemy stray.
The battle won—a glorious romance—
Return the winged heroes for rest they need
Upon my rafters and under my eaves
There ever signs of victory they leave.
©2026 R.A.R. Knight
First published in Reveille Journal
Author’s Note:
It is a love hate relationship with the Swallows. They invade in the winter here, in North Queensland and make a lot of mess. FYI Pool Noodles and Bird Spikes are the only solutions that really work. This poem was first published in a slightly different form at Reveille Journal on Substack.
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