|Crossing the tidal line's foam and spume,
common seagulls. Spindly legged, ignored,
profuse, singly or in uncounted hordes.
Civic environmentalists won't complain,
"Keep off the dunes, don't disturb
their nests, the eggs they have lain."
Scavengers on this man made beach,
I wonder how to separate the young,
The old, why some are shy and others bold?
Harbingers of the passing scene,
they'll survive: after the fragile demolish,
the weak deplete, when man's victories
or defeats matter, they succeed.
Barely idolized in godly myths,
without revulsion, recognition, suspicion
they exist, no elephant held in awe,
No tiger stalked, no threatening bray.
Their feathers not glorified,
not pampered pets, even their flesh
not tender to our knives and forks,
Few questions, their being here,
if they are hungry, on what they dine,
Where they go to fade and die?"
We speak of continuity, try to last,
reach above the earth, probe the skies;
smooth or ruffled, in caw or calm,
they mill about, commence to fly.