I be a nascent Mariner,
On maiden voyage to the sea.
By lack of beard, and tan, and glittering eye,
Thou rightly judgeth me.
I leave a land of scalded plain,
Of mountains, forest grown;
For pelagics and for lifering I leave,
The land-locked state that I have
known.
The feet will lose their balance,
Their souls ride above the wave.
And the birds be Gray, though no longer Jay
Where color meets its grave.
The elements will differ,
The birds will seldom sing,
Witness struggles, witness life and death
All transpiring on-the-wing
The pelagic promise draws me on,
To abandon my craggy home,
And drink deeply of my dramamine,
As I swap for sea from stone.
Intrepid with excitement,
Like a Nuthatch with a seed,
Go I now to expand my List,
And pursue the birder's creed.
But shudder yet, a frightful thought,
That robs me of my sleep.
Though blissful dreams should mine yet be,
Of Shearwaters diving in the deep.
So now embark to bird the waves,
Seek that landmark number from the hull.
So prayeth and yearn ABA 500,
Please be thy not a Western
Gull!
