Francis W.T. Cooper
When next you hear, a seagull cry,
Pause awhile, and ponder,
Look upwards, to a clear blue sky,
Then scan calm sea, out yonder.
Can it be true, that old wives' tale,
'Tis anguished cry, of poor dead soul,
That drowned; and now doth rail
And curse cruel sea, it's anger shows,
We island race, still say, who knows?