Swallows

SWALLOWS © Graham Seal 1972, 2009

On fading autumn afternoons

She sits by the window in her room

Saying goodbye to her friends the swallows

They’ll be flying north tomorrow

Leaving summer and the year behind

And leaving her to fill in the time.

So she turns back all the clocks

Plays the worn-out music box

Tinkling old familiar tunes

Of violins and harvest moons

And all those faces that don’t seem to change

Though she never can quite recall their names.

Faded photos and a few antiques

A few old dreams that she still keeps

To remind her of the small regrets

And all the summers she might forget

Now all the swallows are flying on their way

She sighs and blows the dust off yesterday.