So, there I was, soaking up the sun in my Italian holiday home, when …

Springtime sun on a patio in Puglia,
When a flitting and chirping heralds a flock of bee-eaters.
Their ‘brrr-brrr’ like an urgent phone,
(to those who remember a landline).
Their silhouette a Spitfire soaring,
(are there any now who remember them?)
They turn as one with a shimmer of yellow, orange, green.
Then they are gone,
And all is quiet.
But as for their diet,
I’m not inclined to try it.

NB: Puglia, in Italy, is pronounced to rhyme with Julia or peculiar. If you rhyme it with uglier you will not be welcome in Pugglia.