The Aging Old Birch

From out of the blue two swallows came flying,
Their songs were of mating as winter lay dying.
From below, the old birch, white arms blunt and old,
Reached out with promise of protection from the cold.

A colourless bird house with small wooden perch,
Clung to the bark of the majestic old birch.
The swallows cavorted in the sky overhead,
Then flew to the birch as winter lay dead.

The kindly old tree spread its leaves with a sigh,
A battered old soldier, yet not time to die.
New life in the birdhouse, sounds shrill and new.
The old birch stood guard as the young swallows grew.

One day the parents climbed high in the blue,
Chasing a feather as tree swallows do,
Then away flew the fledglings, without a goodbye.
Last vestige of youth, time now to die.

GWB, Gordon William Bain,
October, 2003.