Up above my head

Here's an Owen Sheers poem that I recalled, after seeing the image of the Patrick Haine's sculpture that Dunc posted:

The first time I saw this poem was on the tube at commuter time when the sight of swallows over fields in early summer seemed an impossible, bucolic dream. Now swallows attend my morning cycle to work, the world of the tube seems the unreal one. I still like the poem though!