Chimney Swifts

Been reading a book Christine gave me for Xmas last year, titled "Ardennes," a history of the Battle of the Bulge. In the end, the towns of Houfallize and St Vith were so thoroughly carpet bombed by the Allies, primarily to prevent the Germans from retreating through them, that when the chimney swifts returned in Spring they were completely stunned and disoriented.


Chimney Swifts

They were carried home North,
  By warm Spring blowing forth,
In the midst of the first weeks of May,
  All of them little black crosses
Once some Men mistook for bats,
  Though they flew in the highlight of day

And they, gay, who were fledglings last year,
  Remembering their chimney crib crèches,
And they, gay, mature for roosting this year,
  Knowing each where they would build their nests,
Were all a chatter, singing for the river midge,
  And the home dew flies they’d soon eat with cheer

Until, as they circled, once around, and around,
  Where what once been their town,
They discovered the world had gone queer,
  For the houses they had known,
And the chimney’s where they kept,
  Like the men, they no longer were here

Naturally, as the Swallows fly in,
  And do homing pigeons,
All the Swifts had returned to their home,
  Just to find it all rubble,
They to scratch life from stubble,
  Without thought that they’d be forced to roam,

For all of the homes that they had known,
  All their town, it’s bricks and it’s stones
It’s streets, and it’s dogs and it’s trees,
  Had been ground down to bit gravel raw
Alone by Mans’ martial cacoethes,
  By soul to feed the craving juggernauts of war