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Where are the old friends now? With their pipes and bad Jokes, White hair and stretched skin, for Whom staring at the gull was an escapade
On the shore that washed their feet, Under the summer sun shining bright, Betting all their retirement money On whose head the gull will crap today!
The gull of the sea is ready game, But the friends, alas! Are missing, Is it an aftermath of the smoke rings Or a symptom of their vile children
But the gull is sharp at vespers nine Like the albatross to the ancient mariners, Is this emptiness among this vast ocean Just another ill thought misfire?
'tross not gull yet gross and dull For the airborne friend that looks on, Summer is dim and sea is stupor As the gull flies o'er the empty chairs...
~Ajay A/N- The fourth stanza refers to the 'Rime of an ancient mariner' by Samuel Coleridge
