Seagull

By Laura Motherway

Way up high on a cool summer sea breeze

A seagull soars over light choppy seas.

Down below on warm golden sand

A girl and her grandpa stroll hand in hand.

Her short little legs are not built for this pace

But Grandpa assures her, that life’s not a race.

The seagull descends and stops on the land

Hopping along on the soft golden sand.

A sudden thought that it can’t forget

Of a leg once lost in a fishing net.

Eight summers pass and the girl’s still there

Grandpa too, with silvery hair.

Her once little legs are longer now

But Grandpa’s legs have slowed somehow.

The sun beats down on her smiling face

And she tells her Pa that life’s not a race.

The summers pass, and still some more

The girl, now grown, walks the shore

With a girl of her own, no more than three

They stop to throw some shells in the sea.

     A stumble, a fumble, a quick embrace

     The Mother laughs, “Life’s not a race.”

The one-legged seagull has long since flown

And a thousand summer breezes have blown

And though now the girl is now fully grown

She still remembers the kindness shown.

As she turns around to face the sea

She smiles at her childhood memories

Of adventures had, right where they are

Of seagulls, shells, little girls, and Pa.