A prodigious flock of seagulls
float seemingly, effortlessly
on a winter frigid river
like miniature polar floes.
Their harsh wailing and squawking calls
are muffled by the roaring sound
of cascade from an old dam.
Their idiosyncratic moves
manifest aquatic prowess:
Their twirling, swirling, eddying
against the current as though fixed
to each molecule of water
until they rise from the surface
into winters late morning mist.
Comments about this poem (Seagulls by Albert Ahearn )
People who read Albert Ahearn also read
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings