Swallows (Brisbane Sonnet) Poem by Gert Strydom

There is a happy bird, a little one
when all the other birds do move abroad
that is flying chirping everywhere
until the time comes that the sun is gone
small swallows fill the air over the road
twisting, hurtling up and down through the air

flying to and fro, flying very fast,
like fighters they dive over the bridge,
over the water as if visiting fish
skimming along as long as the day lasts,
catching small insects, every midge
they make me feel young and somewhat impish,

flying on long pointed wings and turning,
dropping from where the hot sun is burning.