Poem: Gulls at a Tractor

Gulls at a Tractor
By Ann Heyse

In the distance, my neighbor, the one with the tractor,
plows his dark, gray-brown field.

He works the land
readying the soil for seeds.

I know, because I heard sounds of distress that made me go to the window.

It was only gulls
squabbling

They swooped and swirled around him
eager
frenzied
mannerless
at this late afternoon, afterwinter feast

And for me,
delight in those white flutters against a fathoms-deep blue sky

that just might mean spring

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