There he is--

my little boy--a Gull

with black-tipped wings,

and he even sings.

What a joy it was

to watch him fly into a sun-filled sky

as heavy traffic hurried on by.

I fed him and all the flock

and savored each time.

He’d be there with his pals

each and every time.

But now I’ve grown old;

it’s tough to get out in the cold.

But today he followed me home

and I heard him call.

He flew down and sat in front of me.

Then with a flutter of wings was gone.