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
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