Wings


Midnight blue colour of Swallow's wings.
O' what longing for alchemy is this?
Words tossed in sleep, as dreamed sing.
To impart upon the page a morning's miss.
The swallow cuts a path across the sky.
Blue on blue, in perfect ellipse,
a flutter of sweeping spirals, 
the wanderers fly,
On journeys homeward
through skies of mist.
Ever on the wing, the Swallow is blessed
to gently light, and build a nest.


July 2018.    

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