Surf the Sky

Fine summer day, sunshine in May,
here by the woods, what shall we play?
Leaves on the trees,
fine canopies,
wave down at us,
sway in the breeze.
Red, green and gold,
beauty behold,
sweeping the sky,
branches unfold.
What’s that in view
up in the blue?
Surfing the clouds,
wings holding true.
Swifts in the air.
Swifts everywhere:
high overhead,
wing and a prayer.
Darting, they climb,
higher each time.
Soaring with skill,
graceful, sublime.
Insects below
zip to and fro:
quite unaware,
little they know.
Then from the sky,
blink of an eye,
swift after swift,
earthward they fly.
Screaming they zing,
bloodcurdling,
chasing their prey
on crescent wing.
Skim over trees,
swerving with ease,
clean and precise,
riding the breeze.
Skysurfing fun
here in the sun,
swifts on the wing
can’t be outdone.
Fine summer day, sunshine in May,
here by the woods, what shall we play?
No reason why we shouldn’t fly;
we could be swifts
both you and I …