Swallows
Each May, the month of Mary, I believe?
To stables gables, wondrous nests to weave.
20 years espial by precious broods,
Amidst the beasts of burden,
yet unmoved.
Alas, the chestnut lad is here no more,
His brave old heart, no longer to endure!
My only solace now, a sweet refrain
Assuredly, to know he has no pain
With deep regret I’m suddenly aware
No Summers with swallows, hereafter,
shall we share.
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