On the crest of a wave winged gulls take flight
In search of warmer lands;
Direction course set, measured charts in sight,
Their erudite journey is planned.
In the blink of an eye, a snap catch of the beak,
Their formation, their logistics are pure;
They ride high on the thermals, winged speed as they seek
The most perfect view of their tour.
From above to below horizons change on the fly,
Something’s different, a deference profound;
While we see our land flat as we head on by
They know that their world is round.