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Swallows Above My Garden

A quarter century, more or less, of swallows
Stormed my morning garden, soaring, chasing
Each other in swirling, swerving graceful flight,
Sometimes forming pairs and kissing
In mid-air creating a tableau of playful fun, but
Serious in intent to find and capture prey enough
For this year's crop of new or fledgling chicks.

Three quarters of a century and then a bit
Slowed somewhat by age and stiffened joints
But able still to plant and tend this garden
Which these birds unknowingly defend
From slugs and bugs and marauding beetles
My beans and chard, zucchini and tomatoes
Which sustain my body and my intention
To plant a garden once again next year.