TO A SOLITARY SEA-GULL

By Cale Young Rice

Lone white gull with sickle wings,

You reap for the heart inscrutable things:

Sorrow of mists and surf of the shore,

Winds that sigh of the nevermore;

Fret of foam and flurry of rain,

Swept far over the troubled tide;

Maths of mystery and grey pain

The sea's voice ever yields, beside.

Lone white gull, you reap for the heart

Life's most sad and inscrutable part.