Still swallows
scything the patch of pasture
neatly hemmed by threads of hedges
flourishing with flowers
a summer's afternoon ago, now
thickly thatched with blackberries
although the rain and wind
and frugal foragers, perhaps,
have pecked and picked the best
already
as I look again
across my field of view
the swallows have disappeared -
not yet departed -
but flown a little further
towards the sea and the south,
beyond my compass
