Ode to a gull
Can you hear the familiar mewing cry,
Does your ear bend to the sound?
Would that the world would listen so,
Motionless sit in silent reflection
And feel the ages pass around them.
Oh gossamer wings that do beat,
And bend upon the unruly air,
Ease and grace at their command,
Thy cares seem but nought.
I would I were with those on high,
Who charge even the dreary clouds,
And laugh in raucous joy as feather
Touches feathered tip in ballet.
Then drilling down through
Upward icy blast a demon
Of beak and claws descending
Tearing at the rotting flesh
Harsh bloodying of beauty with truth.
There, there is the towering cliff
Hence away to your ancient homes,
Leave man bowed still in misery,
Of life, of majesty, of beauty bereft.
