I Am a Swallow
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When sunset bows amidst the hilltops,
My warble coos on fields;
And through the ever- glowing night
This womb of nest I keep,
Where flappers reel like tints of sky
A mix of white and cobalt -blue,
To guide oak trees from silhouettes
Against the rail of grass.
The seasons house me with warm grace,
Rich the buds growing soft
Adorning my emblazoned wings,
Etched across the cloudscape.
Yet, the flavor of autumn blows
Heralding distant flights;
Till wake of spring escorts me back
From old Capistrano.
Early Feb 2018 Premiere Contest:
For Brian Strand
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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