Poem #16

Summer’s bolted,

flowered, gone to seed.

I graze the last bitter leaves

or sow a fall crop.

 

Swallows ranked in rows

forked tails due north

rolling out, replaced by starlings

massing for invasion.

 

Summer was a river then

flowing endlessly before us.

When did the channel

become so narrow?

Bank Swallow

Bank Swallow

 

 

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Categories: Bird photos, postcard poems | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

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