Gulls will be Gulls
Morn flies in softly on sweet golden wings
way down below, red-breasted robin sings.
English Bay freighter around anchor swings
while high atop PaPa, a lone gull clings.
Not really pretty with bright yellow bills,
with their raucous call, the morning sky fills.
I watch them soar high with elegant skills
and wish they’d not poop on my window sills.