It was a cold crisp morning when the fog had hardly enough time to lift ,
the seagulls each one first circling around empty egg shells ,
and discarded food the dust carts had left .

Then many more came a
Circling from far off land I had never seen  before ,
untill all I could see were wings of white all   flapping ,
like some kind of maddening on the floor .



And so The trees were stripped , their branches naked found their
gaiety in the winds
for no birds would find their nests ,
in spring.
their eggs flung out and crushed or stolen by children ,
with eager eyes yet somehow  lost along the way ,
then sold for half a crown ,
to the costermonger down the lane .
with  no time to breed ,
just die ,
and lie forgotten , dead upon the ground .





So life grows cold upon this land ,
it’s secrets may not tell ,
as empty shells discarded once ,
brought a new born babies  yell  .
And Mary sung in a land far far away ,
a small child at last  should bring some joy ,
as what the Angels say ,
In Christ a new born King will be born
and In a stable
  lay .

It was a cold crisp morning as many a seagulls sung ,
as if the world was at last waiting for ,
It’s new born
Son .