The arctic tern wheels the sky;
All the lonely Summer through;
Sailing on the sleety wind;-
And most accurate his view.

In fields of desolation;
Of white and polar caps,
Seals lie lazy on the rocks,
And whales beneath, perhaps.

Though lonely is the tern;
The world grows ever warmer,
As meridians he turns,
Habitat grows ever smaller.

Yes, lonely is the tern;
Skwarking cranneries on cliffs,
Cruising on the eddies;
Thermals now the tern uplifts.

Looking at the wide blue ocean;
And with that bird's eye view,
He cares not for Man's commotion;
Just his ever-clear purview.

Alas! the graceful tern;
Who lives upon the wing;
Would wish for her return;
To write just one more thing.

Before the tern must face his long migration;-
To Southern parts across an endless sea;-
So she flies in my imagination;-
Safe travels;- seagull - wherever you may be.


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