Seagull Picnic


The wind from the west, the tide was high;

The sea-wrack filled the water, made it brown;

The breaking waves were coffee, foam for cream.

No bird perched on the rail, none clove the sky

Which with its leaden canopy leaned down

As though its weight to push the waves did seem.

But seagulls in their hundreds, their supply

Of food assured, settled upon the crown,

Dipped beaks into the froth that there did teem,

Gorging themselves, no further urge to fly.

As children on a picnic called to eat

Forget the boats and swings, the hunt and chase,

And settle down united for a space

In one endeavour to make self replete.


Weekly Times   11.3.60