Gulls

They squawk in raucous chorus, wheeling round

Above the floating ships where they abound,

Then sweep down in bold and gracious curve,

Then round they go and make a sideways swerve

Then dip right down their greedy selves to serve,

And glut themselves on fish they have observed,

Down they dip and from the lambent water tweak

A glittering silver fish in yellow beak.

Then up again they wheel astride

Currents of air in their admitted price,

Then slip sideways above the water and glide

Into a motion of their own,

Sailing aloft as if they had been blown

Without a conscious effort of their own,

Then they strut along the harbour wall

Preening deliberately their silver wing,

While occasionally to them fisherfolk fling

Discarded parts of gutted fish –

To the palate of a gull a dainty dish.

Beside the quay they bob upon the sea

Rocked to the ocean’s rhythm silently,

With a slow motion on the drifting tide –

Then take off and the air currents ride

In slow circles drifting round

As if unconscious whither they are bound.