There are certain markers which denote comings and goings. This poem is about one of them.


I was a child when I first became aware
Of something magical in the sky,
A visitation of vibrant joy,
Squeals of delight, chirps of merriment,
Aerial playground for giddy birds,
Tag on a thermal, catch-me-if-you-can,
Kaleidoscope of changing patterns -
Circling, cascading, cartwheeling swallows.

I am grown up now but the spring-child remains,
Looking upwards for the first signs of their return,
Migrating clowns and acrobats and trapeze artists,
A fearthered flying circus under a big blue top,
But like a real circus, the performers move on,
True to the wise code of wanderlust -
We must leave you so that we may come back,
Remember us fondly until we meet again.

Another autumn has arrived and it's time to go,
A gathering of swallows heralds the change,
Frantic flying is suspended, more rest is required,
Perching on telephone wires like ying and yang,
The black and white symmetry in all nature,
And I line up, too, for my next journey,
Migrating to a new land, a different landscape,
Swallow-like to the bitter-sweet end.

Chris Fernie, 2006

Poetry by Chris Fernie
Read 394 times
Written on 2006-09-03 at 12:49

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