The Seagull

The Seagull

At my age, little to say

of all that is yet to come

but tell instead of things

long since passed and gone,

memories half hidden stirred

to life by a seabird’s cries.

I heard a seagull once,

long ago, and cried,

“From where do you come?

and why do you cry?

Oh, I would go with you

seabird and fly

far over town and hill.”

This morning I heard some bird

cry out loud and harsh,

I replied with

quiet hesitation,

“I’ve come, I’ve come,

to know your sum

of past and present and yet to come!”

Oh grant me some relief,

some day,

relief and tolerance for myself,

old-young and foolishly-wise,

with wisdom I’ll heed again

the seabird’s cries.