Swallow Poem and Photography by DoobieDuck
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Every spring, I start my thing, cutting and building away. My carpentry skills, and what I will build, hoping they will come and please stay. From larger to smaller, from shorter to taller, are abodes I will put in their way, They can come and inspect, scrutinize and object, examine almost every day. With caution, make haste, I place each living space, my mind exhausted with fear, Hoping they will approve, they will not move, and will make home here, year after  year. Like amusement park thrills, and to meadowlark trills, these glide and swoop and they play. Soaring high and then low, flying far they will go, dodging trees that scatter the way. I sit and I listen, as their blue backs do glisten, to the chirps and calls of romance. Now they are mating and I find myself waiting  this year to see at a glance. A family to be, or what will be to me, indignation, disgust, and compliance. Prosaic I’ll become, oh humdrum, another year come soon will go,  A decade of trying, sometimes has me crying, for my toils, I get nothing returned. Unlike years in the past, dissimilar at last, spring  brings hope, expect, and desire. Nesting hear now, compliant I bough, they’re  warming my heart like a fire. My tears they have dried, for what I have tried, to  nest swallows close to my home,  finality done, kinsfolk from above, until fall when  finally they have gone. DoobieDuck
Reserved for 2015 images...