Sea Gull, She Gal, He Gal. Poem by Steven Robinson

Sea Gull, she gal, he gal I watch the birds,
flitting and flying they as they dance, tease and flirt.

Lamppost and trees are their perch, they laugh at the motorists as they search and foray,
mocking us drivers as we enter the grey day.

The sea must be bad to have the gulls here,
reminds me of why I might want to leave old blighty's winter glare.

The suns is on holiday, and the birds know it all to well,
their compasses telling them to fly south to avoid the cold swell.