When the Swifts Return

Under the belly of a dragon
the swifts would return
"Good times ahead",
you’d say

Next morning,
we’d head for the woods
walking on rainbows
of bluebell and foxglove
forging ahead
we’d burst into the day
with air in our lungs
and swords
of twisted bark
you’d point out
the larch and the oak,
orange tip
and cabbage white
I’d listen to you
and the cuckoo
pretending it called our names

To the knocking of the streams ahead
where in castles of rock
we’d make our stand
against the flow
that pushed and pulled
around our fortress
of well placed stone
Our dams held strong
as we built our defences
but knowing
it wouldn’t be long
till the water slipped through
like sand, accepting
our battle was lost

As I walk these paths
without you Dad
I remember all I’ve learnt
and under winters white washed skies
I long for the swifts to return.