Shooting a battle cry
Athwart the leaden sky,
A gull hurried to his task
Before the sky wears his mask.

Nobody knew what his task was
Except that his time drew to a pause
And that he had to hurry because
From the open he had to retreat.

The bird knew this but he was wayward
Swimming in the airy wave, beak forward,
Skating, flying, but always eastward,
Heedless of the dark, like a poet.

(c) LazharBouazzi