When the combine has cut through the wheat,
The bailer tidied all loose ends
And The Downs have felt the drag of plough and harrow,
Swallows and martins scour the chalk field in hundreds
A restless gathering, swooping, sweeping low
From roadside wires and hedge tops
Assembling their collective will to flee
Our gloomy, damp, autumnal land
~
One flits by, teasing my unleashed hound
Another, passes that close to me
I hear its fine wings feathering the air
~
This strange summer’s end comes nigh
Marked by the breath of hirondelles brushing our crumbled turf
Their fleeting farewell kisses of Northern earth leave no mark
When they take temporary leave for Southern skies
~
CLP 30th August, 2020
Journey of Words 