Nothing is as
sad as the free seagull´s demise,
As he falls
dead, tumbling from grey angry skies,
Whether
tossed by thermals or angry God Thor,
Or victim of
storm, by hand of nature´s cruel law,
Maybe by the
sad triggered gun of the idiotic sod,
Flung,
feathered to earth by the hand of his God,
A prayer of
oceans, seas & grey scudding clouds,
Upon your back,
as you fall in soft plumed shrouds.
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