I swish and swizzle,
Round tufts and stacks
To the tops of trees,
To the gravel path.

Darting, diving,
Turning, gliding
Through copse, I whistle.

Barely a rustle in the barley,
Hardly a whisper in the hedge,
I glide on the air. 

Feather of light,
A wisp of motion,
Through barnyard,
Through fence. 

Over hillock,
Round ledge, searching
Mouth open, wide,
I collect. 

And when winter comes,
I leave, fly home.

Watch creeping frost,
Crawl across land,
Snowy seasons
Dapple Hills, white.

Over the ocean,
Over the continents,
I never land.

But here I live, in warmth
Dusty sands and
Hot dry meadows. 

Round tufts and stacks
I fly, my friends
At my side. 

Till no more we can,
Thole the heat.
Then back to Britain,
We fly in the fleet.

My heart is a single track road,
Going where, I do not know,
Distant croft, small hold,
To a deep forest untold.

My heart is a shining mane,
Leaf fall, autumn storms, 
Joyus gallop hame,
through our ancient domain.

My heart is purple haze,
heather moor, ragged tops,
In blistering sun rays,
our serpents bathe.

My heart is a hot fire,
wet socks,  and rainy days,
Air trilling with the winter choir
My heart, my hame, my desire.