The Swallow of Our Land

Over the burnt earth you circled, you found the fallen branches of the free cypress. You found them, one by one, grain by grain, you drew up the cypress, and the cypress, to the brightest spot on the roof, you wove the green stems strand by strand into one another. You built a transfigured nest: brimming now with the song of the coming spring. Accept, swallow of our springtimes, the kisses of your land upon your heart...