how many days left
a swallow is a beautiful season
quickly gliding across an open field
she seems to simultaneously
know where she’s headed
and be chasing chaos
if I could follow a bird;
drift in sunlight,
would I feel new?
that is always the hope
rarely the truth
i imagine it can be lonely
up on tiny wings
slowly falling —
darting and graceless
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one swallow does not a summer make, or so some say. Nevertheless, I really like those first two lines.