Swallows At Zimbabwe Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

Great Zimbabwe in the sun,
Far away
Dreams all day
Of his riddles solved of none,
Where just now the swallows muster,
Cling and cluster,
Chestnut breasts and cloven tails,
On the wires and on the rails,
Soon to fly
Straight and high,
Following still the airy blue
Roads they knew
Centuries ere Zimbabwe grew
Under those dead builders’ hands,
Over bush and swamp and range,
Lake and jungle lost and strange,
Lone and lion-coloured lands
Of sun and sands.
So they fly
Straight and high,
Far and fast,
Till at last
Looking out beneath the thatch
On the church, the elms, the green,
Building hedgerow, cressy brook,
Springing wheat and fresh turned loam -
All the quiet old serene
English scene,
Somebody may chance to catch
A sudden flash of wings and cry;
“Look - Look -
The swallows have come home!”