poem by Arthur L. Wood (photo: "The Heron's Feather" by Mark Millicent)
O Swift, why do you fear us, And live and sleep above? I have some crumbs to give you, I also have some love.
Above I hear you screaming, I see you soaring by, Rest your poor and weary wings, And leave your vaulted sky.
O Swift, I know you fear us, I often fear us too, But I have not the wings to fly In the sky with you.
So come and see my garden, I’ll pat thy pretty head, And cozy shalt thou rest upon My lap that is thy bed.
I’ll miss you when you leave me, I’ll cry upon this land, So whilst you can relieve me And sit upon my hand.
To Africa you’ll journey You’ll fly there all too soon, Until the Summer summons all Its flowers into bloom,
When you’re back returning, When May shines again, I pray you’ll find, on England’s shores, A peaceful race of men.