Foto: Boyka Todorova


They caressed the headlands,

Taking in their stride those gusts of tribulation,

Hurled across oceans to challenge their grace,

To throw them from purpose.


Each flies to its own music,

An ode to the shores they call their home.

They scan the sea, perhaps in search of something lost,

Perhaps with no purpose at all.


What is this if not a reflection of our own existence,

Frail through longing and littered with empty searches,

Overwhelmed by a sea of unknowns.


Why then does this humble bird glide so carefree?

And why, I ask, can’t we?

By Sophie Scotter