We haven’t seen so many this year, but we still delight in watching them.



            Away and to windward,

            across Africa and Spain,

            and high over the bay of Biscay,

            the swallows are now returning;

            their yachting wings bringing

            them back to our village again;

            as one by one they all arrive,

            to gather – perched on lines.


            Earth-bound I crane my neck

            to follow them, while aloof they fly –

            low and high as they quarter the sky.

            My love for them must be in vain:

            they do not – cannot,  share their world,

            for all they care for are bugs and air;

            I can only watch them as they soar

            as I’m left below – watching in awe.


                                                            © D G Moody




© Dodgem 2023
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a very lovely poem for these amazing birds..


I hope they don’t go the same way as swifts, which seem to be down in numbers.

When I was a kid we rescued a swallow that got stuck in my uncle’s barn. When up close we could see their exquisite colouring in detail.

Fab birds!


D, elegant birds indeed. Just had an issue with the 2 “fly”” and “sky” rhymes in the second verse.


Just an aside: I told you it was a misnome, we had rain AGAIN while you are out there enjoying the sun! 🙂


Nice write about these delightful performers.

They never fail to fascinate me with their swoops and dives, but sadly their numbers are very much down in my locality.


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