The Swallows

 High in the air the swallows fly, 

Happy all the day long,

Darting about in the deep blue sky,

Singing a twittering song.

Their nests are built on the old oak

beam

High in the barn so cool,

Made of clay from the little stream,

Or mud from the edge of the pool.

They play with the martins and try

to race

The sickle-winged swift in flight,

And over the trees in airy grace

They fly from morning to night.

The summer is theirs, and glad and free

Through the golden days they fly,

Calling their twittering song to me

Down the windy ways of the sky.