On the grass, two damselflies
Engage in an embrace.
Then, still entwined, they whirl and rise
An inch before my face.

I realise they’re making love
And turn my head away
And notice, in the sky above,
Two swallows’ air display.

It seems they can’t be doing that
In order just to feed;
Each goes on like an acrobat
To meet some other need.

I wonder, if I sprouted wings,
If I’d attend to sweeter things.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

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