July last, left for the rift continent,
their too short stay here done,
we are the lesser for it,
until their return.
Now this May, they once more fill the sky,
arrowing out from behind the roof,
above the trees,
They fill our ears,
with shrill, joyous screams,
I hear them cut the air,
skilled squadrons skimming close.
Silhouettes dashing and scything,
‘pray they return next year,
to make the sky whole again,
and with it, the head, and the heart.
as lesser species,
they are the essence,
of our spring and summer skies.
Spirit of the birds,