Three gulls braid each other's paths
Through the tri-colored sky,
Blue, gray and white.
Clouds slowly trek east
Down Straight Bay into Morong Cove
(The tide is out so the cove
Is mostly mud, rocks and saw grass).
Summer's over so we three will flee
Further south.
Who wants to sit up here
Amidst pancake ice, bleakness and blinding snow?
We'll come back in spring
And face the no-see-ums, greenheads and mosquitoes.
We'll go boating, fishing and clamming.
We'll pick blueberries, blackberries and rasberries.
We'll watch the sun come up, burn all day
And then go beautiful down.
We'll have fires
And cook hotdogs, hamburgs and marshmellows.
We'll drink wine, watch the billion stars
And sleep in the cool Maine nights.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Oh!
Threes ... How wonderful a write, with the reader becoming one of the three gulls, or the three travelers ... take me with, take me with! The entire poem is lovely but I especially loved the entrance line:
Three gulls braid each other's paths ...
Thank you, Poet.
Love
Myra
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and .. you can't leave out the tide. The tide is unbelievable there.
Love this, Mike.
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sounds like fun. Can I come and join your cook out?
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