Swallows, Swifts, and Flights of Storks
Who will dance in the pastures now, for the summer has early gone;
It took the storks, the swallows, swifts to the warmer lands of the sun;
Prophet-like the cool breeze speaks of the winter’s hiss and howl;
In meadows where we danced so gay soon leaden skies will growl.
Our songs were lifted by the breeze and danced across the weald;
And like the autumn leaves to come they skipped across the fields,
For warm winds blow before the snow, they scatter come what may;
The summer flowers have yet to sleep when time shall have its say.
Their summer dance and meadow song will never let me be,
And dare I wonder what shall come of those of spirits free;
Like swallows, swifts and flights of storks they leave with autumn clime;
Whilst I will be still chained to thee in thoughts of summertime.
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We Are Not Alone in Meadows, Dear
We are not alone in the forest, dear,
It only seems to be;
We share it with the many folk,
The ones we cannot see.
Their forest ways are not our ways,
They read the sounds and breeze,
Their song the rain and babbling brook;
Their homes are where they please.
We are not alone in the meadows, dear,
So dream and whisper low,
And little folk now out of sight,
Shall watch us as we go.
The meadow ways are not our ways,
Their way of life not ours,
They play and sleep in river reeds,
And dream among the flowers.
We are not alone on river banks,
It cannot set us free;
For we are guests and they are hosts,
To what we’ll never be:
So when you leave your whimsy thoughts,
And merry go your way,
Remember all these woodland folk,
And the thoughts they cannot say.