Closed ‘Til Spring

Within this wooden box
Tree swallows built a home
Of grass and feathers

Formed a cup-shaped nest
To hold a clutch of pink-white eggs
Tended them in heat and chill

Watched as shells cracked and
Newborns struggled
To take their first deep drink of air

Through short summer months
They swept bugs up on the wing
Perfected their aerial acrobatics

Then as the sun shrank
They cast themselves south
And left behind an empty sky.