The Seagulls

Gone are the warm days, easy and slow,
Gone are the blue seas, now the winds blow.
The wild waves of winter are rough for us now,
And so we come inland to follow the plough.

The tractors are busy, the harvests well-earned,
Grain in the silo, the stubble is burned,
Keen blades turn the soil while we wheel, swoop, and turn,
To fight with the rooks for the grub and the worm.

Helen Harbert 1985