From chimney to chimney the seagulls call.
They’re becoming hungry, no children at all
Where’s the curry and chips upon which they rely:
It’s not on the roadside to fulfil their cry
They all came inland when the fish became scarce,
And were fed by the children, their take-outs to taste,
But the virus is here, human friends disappear.
They must now go back to a time before fear,
When they foraged themselves seeking insects and worms,
To return to their nests with real grub for their young.
Shirley Gibson 06.04.2020