Baby Swallow

The time had come For the swallows to leave Travelling to South Africa Over the Pyrenees One chick in particular Was not ready to go Despite being urged by its siblings In a to-and-fro Into the stable Its mother flew “Tswit-tswit,” it sang There was one thing to do Using her claws She picked up her chick What she was about to commence Would make it think quick Over the orchard This mother carried its chick As it was time to use That age-old trick Down the chick went As the mother let go Its new found talent It was about to show Out stretched its wings In the nick of time Gliding over The wild mountain thyme