It was once thought that swallows <br />wintered on the moon, <br />or morphed into field mice <br />beneath the autumn swoon <br /> <br />of clouds, or slept beneath <br />wavelets on the floor <br />of shadowy ponds and lakes <br />until the sudden lure <br /> <br />of springtime roused them from <br />the kingdom of the dead. <br />Early Christians believed <br />they swirled around the head <br /> <br />of Jesus, giving comfort <br />as he bore his heavy cross, <br />or they were harbingers <br />of heaven after loss. <br /> <br />Today I look above <br />the eaves as autumn blooms <br />in the deep well of the sky, <br />my house’s empty rooms <br /> <br />echoing only wind, <br />the memory of their song. <br />They have flown south for winter, <br />which here is dark and long.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/swallows-2/
