The Swallows

I didn’t know it was three years ago,
You left my life like it was Spring and you were snow,
You were snow.
In Spring the swallows’ wing will follow.

We haven’t yet found where we’ll fling you,
Spring is new now, the floor is full of
Dew and things to cling to.
This glen without you…
Mounts reflected uʍopǝpᴉsdn,
Set-up, settle, several songs to sing you.
In Spring the swallows’ wings will follow.

Listen to the way you sleep,
One day we’ll be sleeping
Fleeing the sea
And leaping up the Lethe.
No more time to weave with,
No more line to lead with,
They buried it between your teeth.
And anyone that met you
Would say that heaven sent you
For a short reprieve
Now I’ll let you have your leave.

Winter falls to Summer,
Swallows take to wing,
And I’m all but forgotten
And I won’t pretend that’s a bad thing.
I didn’t know it was three years ago,
Now you’re angel shaped,
Scraped up past the gate
In the gaping bluescape.

In Spring the swallows’ wings will follow.

Seasons are a great analogy for the inevitable passage of time. Things die, they feed the next generation, life gets renewed, birds leave and return, snow melts and surges down streams and rivers to the sea, salmon leap upstream to spawn where they first hatched. It’s now closer to six years ago. Three years after writing the song, elapsed time has crept up on me in exactly the same way; seasons repeat.

A year passed. Winter changed into Spring, Spring changed into Summer, Summer changed back into Winter, and Winter gave Spring and Summer a miss and went straight on into Autumn.

– Monty Python and the Holy Grail

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