for Tracey Lawrence
*
She scans the sky for swallows in the Spring
Down in the Rowdey gardens, by the shed
When I was low and January dead
She held my hand and helped my spirit sing
I saw her soul, a swallow on the wing
Still flying high when other birds had fled
Such loving kindness in the words she said
Such gentleness on earth is everything
…
She’s in the garden, sitting in her chair
And laughing as the swallows in the skies
Make witty patterns in the Wiltshire air
Like little arrows shot across The Vize
I think that I shall just leave Tracey there
With tears of joy and swallows in her eyes
*
© Gail Foster 2nd May 2017
