The seagull does fly over suburban rooftops, <br />So far inland and is lost to the sea, <br />Soaring and shearing and gliding and turning, <br />And high up above it moves so gracefully, <br />Through the air it does travel fast <br />I listen to its call, <br />And carried on the summer wind <br />The echoes of its cry. <br /> <br />The sunlight does shine on its silver white wingtips, <br />As it does move through the great blue unknown, <br />Searching for food and for scraps it can live on, <br />Exploring the landscape it heads all alone, <br />And it views all the scenery <br />So unfamiliar from, <br />The coast where it was born and raised <br />From which it now does fly. <br /> <br />High over the fields and the green hills beyond them, <br />Factories and chimneys the seagull does roam, <br />Over the towers and noise of the city, <br />So lonely it travels and so far from home, <br />To seek a good resting place <br />And some companionship, <br />As evening falls its sillhouette <br />Against the amber sky.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seagull-3/
