Far off
a flight of swallows turn and
head with tinkle-bells
of carts, winding
down a country
lane towards
their distant
home.
And in the fields the women
sing, a strange sonorous
melody, sinking with
the orange sun
in slow and
steady
note.
Tan Pratonix
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-4/
