THE SWALLOW by Charlotte Smith

The gorse is yellow on the heath,
The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,
Th oaks are budding; and beneath,
The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,
The silver wreath of May.

The welcome guest of settled spring,
The swallow too is come at last;
Just at sunset, when thrushes sing,
I saw her dash with rapid wing,
And hailed her as she passed.

Come, summer visitant, attach
To my reed-roof your nest of clay,
And let my ear your music cath,
Low twittering underneath the thatch,
As the gray dawn of day.

As fables tell, an Indian sage,
The Hindustani woods among,
Could in his desert hermitage,
As if’t were marked in written page,
Translate the wild bird’s song.

I wish I did his power possess,
That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee,
What our vain systems only guess,
And know from what wild wilderness
You came across the sea.

Yes, our barn swallows also have returned to our country residence as of Mother’s Day, May 10th, swooping and signaling with squeaky twitters. Vultures, however, enjoy a year round stay. They cruise the thermals above our home reminding me of our Big Brother government, ever vigilant to strip away another ounce of free flesh from its citizens. Whatever we can eat, drink, smoke, wear, drive, buy, watch, hear, see, caress or smell is already regulated and restricted. Whatever government subsidizes, supports, excuses or fosters in this ‘bailout era’, on the other hand, is out of our control. smokeandmirrors.con, ( my version) should be the new Website for a government sponsored program for residential portfolio holders that will "monetize your residential mortgage." Need any further proof of the need to rid ourselves of the irresponsible Big O and his Washington liberal elites - a clan of vultures flying over our heads?