Cry of the gulls

I wrote this poem while sitting in Tesco’s car park in Coventry. It was bloody freezing and it did seem like only the sea gulls were having fun.

The cry of the gulls echoes loud,
The early sky has not a cloud,
The icy winter air freezes,
It’s weather for coughs and sneezes.

The gulls circulate on the hunt,
There goes another airborne stunt,
Are they flying wild to keep warm?
Or do they just like to perform?

And while the gulls fly on the wing,
Other birds sit in trees and sing,
Then people begin to arrive,
Not walking; they’ve chosen to drive.

Coats zipped up against the cold,
It’s the same for all, young or old.
And the gulls watch from upon high,
While still emitting their loud cry.

I watch those gulls having their fun,
While shielding my eyes from the sun,
I think about the things to do,
But freely, like the gulls ballyhoo.

Then I get to wondering why,
Those crying gulls are so nearby,
Because this place is a big city,
Not the scenic coast, so pretty.

The cry of the gulls reminds me,
Of landscapes where I’d rather be,
Hiking down a beach by the sea,
Feeling glad to at last be free.

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