THE SWALLOWS


This year they took their time to get going.
Frantic activity waited until June.
We worried when scaffolding went up
About disruptions to family life,
But the young's supply of flies continued.

I counted thirty-five of them today,
Assembled on a wire against blue sky.
Gone are the fluffy feathers.
Their tails have lengthened and now they can fly.
The scaffolding - a blessing in disguise;
It was really the foundation of a flying school.
We tried to focus on tennis at Wimbledon,
But found ourselves watching their progress.

Graduates of The Coshieville Flying School,
They soar and dip, swoop, race and twirl,
As we wait for the window-cleaner to return.

FAITH

Down by the sea shore on shellpowdered sand,
Is where you will find her, walking and thinking.
Sometimes, not always, there's an outstretched hand,
The one that guides and prevents her from sinking.
Solitude days tie a string of fine pearls,
Each precious one she presents to the light.
But depths, doubts and downturns when everything swirls,
When she's locked up inside her in darkness of night.
There are footprints - someone has found her beach.
She stands in the shallows, listens to the sea,
And touched by the wind she is now within reach;
She hears the words clearly "Come follow me".
Down by the sea shore compassion rolls in
From the timeless ocean and the voice within.

SCOTLAND

Corncrakes and snowflakes and dragonfly wings,
Forests and rivers and stretches of sand.
Swallows and curlews and hurricane winds,
Artists and poets and arable land.

Rainfall and bracken and ptarmigan trails,
Gift shops and tartan and bagpipe parades.
Buntings and eagles and sounds filled with sails,
Hawthorn and hoar frost and daylights that fades.

Moonlight and moorland and red morning glow,
Castles and cafes and Ossian's cave.
Otters and red deer and deep drifts of snow,
Mountains and gem stones and moments to save.