Oh, sea gull
You were constructed
From that where you live.
Focused out of the gray and white air,
your creviced mouth
Is a part of a rock.
Your feet,
Merely cold twigs
From one of last winter's branches.
When you sit,
You resemble a block of driftwood.
You are entitled then to fly past the sun
To read the message printed there!
And when you die,
You'll glide with the mist;
Thus melting into the Cape
From whence you came.