Sunday, 18 August 2013

Resting spot.

Gulls perched on slick rocks,
(Too slick for human soles)
Gusted by the coastal wind. 
Some more intrepid than others
ride the occasional piece of driftwood, carried in from an unknown boat, 
long passed by.

The planks are battered 
and often black with rot, 
Though flecks of paint remain in patches.
 And what do such things matter to a Gull? 
A resting spot is a resting spot 
As long as the tide behaves. 

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