Glistening swallows,

tentatively darting, through

silvery mists and mysterious yearnings.

Past golden clouds of vapory dreams,

through faceted colors and rainbows of leaves.

With teardrops of tune on the winds of a prayer,

with sunbeam and moonglow alive in the air,

they flit and they frolic and then they are gone,

ardent wisps of the burning remembrance of song

floating down like the white holy ashes of grace

till they settle like dew on the weeping earth’s face.

The whole world goes to sleep

and the songbirds, they fly

on a velvety sonnet

into beckoning night.