A
seagull flying high into
the
gray and gloomy sky.
Feathered
wings awash
with
patterned mist.
Movement
was its exclamation.
Crying
out it had the right to be.
Gliding
through the waves
of
all of man's disparity.
The
air was all.
Upholding
even ardent poetry...
? Michaelette ?
3/19/2005
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette
L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take
me home . . .