He nestled his head in his own rustic feathers,
They were worn and old by age and weather.
And I pitied him as he moped close by
His youth was gone, it could be I.
The once keen ears must have heard
The calls and cries of another bird.
For he moved his head – opened an eye
And raised his wings as if to fly.
His strength ebbed away and flight was nil;
So he tucked his wings and stood there still.
I looked at him; he looked at me;
The old sea gull down by the sea.
Soaring aloft like graceful wings,
Youth glides by, dances and sings.
Then one day sits by the shore
And waits for life to be no more.