Poem by Peter Buss
The seagulls sang in the sunlit sky,
Over the waves you could hear their cry,
Among the rocks and the seaweed tall
The seagulls are circling large and small.
Over the Downs and the chimney stacks,
Seagulls are seeking out crevice and cracks.
Out by the water seagulls are flying.
Whether the year is awaking or dying,
While round and around they are circling for fun,
When the year is ending or has begun,
A special bird is the seagull.
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