Swallows

Here is another poem of mine inspired by the change of season, by the sadness of farewells. In this case by the departure of swallows and the amazing fact of their huge journey south. Such small creatures to undertake this enormous and dangerous voyage. What power is calling them? It is also a reminder to obey our intuition and not be fearful.

Swallows

The swallows are sitting on the line;

Their purpose here nearly over.

A pulse, a scent, something calling.

Tiny scraps, empowered;

To ride the wind southwards.

I hear their twittering restlessness.

Primordial longing;

Connecting me to the same fever.

What is it we seek with journeying?

Heed the calling to the source:

Or be fearful and die.