This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Oh, Merry Go Round of life,
Treadmill of my dreams,
High-rise buildings blot out the sun,
Slum sections teeming decay
And suppressed life, despair.
A question, urgently stirring
About wings spread and whirring.
Freedom to move in uncluttered space —
Tiny forms darting and blurring.
Will the swallows care to come back to Capistrano?