Spring. Swallows swoop, home once more
From winter a continent away
Seeing in their guided flight
Wonders which no pilgrims here
Have looked on or imagined in their dreams.
Small insect life, swept up from valley far below
Is breeze-borne food for them around
The man-built cliffs of sun-warmed stone
Built as home for (though it cannot hold)
God whose praises upwards swirl
Past mud-built nests, secure beneath the eaves.

Warm flagstones. Sparrows squabbling
Glean offered grain, fallen as it was waved.
Not travellers, they know each corner
That is safe from keen eyed kestrel
Or merlin’s heart stopping stoop to seize and kill.
They also know their market two a farthing worth
But are still content to be about
The bronze gates of this special place
Where the Maker of stone, bird and man
Is loved, worshipped and obeyed
The longed for place of swallow, sparrow, me.