Who is more detached the tourists or the swiftlets

Since time immemorial by thrusting design
The sea bed rose skywards its pleasure to dine
Such a momentum of seasonal rain matched by the spirit
With so much to gain
Lime sent a’sunder in massive tall casts
Sheer do you hear incredible blasts

That rose upwards clearing the ocean to sky
And within this ediface great caves fight shy
Wherein tiny swiftlets are known to fly
And build their nests in what is dark and dry
And its all just from spittle a rich gurgling gob
That dries and produces a recoil to sob
And humans some of them curiously
Go out of their way to collect them to be

Transformed into soup these birds nests they are
Flavoured with chicken and conflour a star
Performer we hear in parts of the east
Where diners eat well any part of a beast
And these saliva parcels and probably poo
Are stolen and made into this special brew

As to detachment from all that can be
Natural and organic it does seem to me
To eat the birds homes sentimentality
Made up in fact of so much energy
Stolen from nature for so called desire
And indigenous people risk their lives
Climbing higher
On very poor ropes up into the sky
One slip and for a few birds nests people die

It goes back to quackery and libido
Supposed immune problems for a skin that cann glow
A remarkable difference when eating this stuff
And some chinese diners cannot get enough
Whatever the reason they are creating each roost
These nest buidlig swiftlets are getting a boost
In the tops of some houses nest making space
Is offered for swiftlets their cradles to grace

But with no squatters rights
One season then they
Get their marching orders
And must away
Then offered another space
Where its clean and dry
Which will be removed in the wink of an eye