Far off <br />a flight of swallows turn and <br />head with tinkle-bells <br />of carts, winding <br />down a country <br />lane towards <br />their distant <br />home. <br /> <br />And in the fields the women <br />sing, a strange sonorous <br />melody, sinking with <br />the orange sun <br />in slow and <br />steady <br />note.<br /><br />Tan Pratonix<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-4/
