I like to sit in my boat and just breathe,
Floating soundly in the dock,
Watching the seagulls swarm around insignificant pieces of discarded bread.
I’m at ease because I can watch from afar,
Nothing more than a spectator of the chaos,
Far from entangled in the pursuit to be the head of the colony.
All that commotion for a scrap of bread,
I won’t ever understand it,
I’m not convinced they do.
Though I’m sure they eat handsomely, the seagulls,
They always seem to want more,
Their greed unchallenged by a limit.
Back on the boat I have everything I need;
The fire is warm and the beer is cool,
Fresh tales await me at the turn of a new cover.
I’m content here,
Though I don’t own much of the world,
And I haven’t ever yearned for opulence.
I just wish for the minor fragments I need and long for,
And as penury obstructs so many from this,
I’d rather feed them than serve my devil.
I don’t think I’d like to be a seagull,
Flying high looks bliss but it isn’t imperative to being free,
And racing for bread doesn’t suit me.
Just see me to my boat and you’ll find me somewhat appeased,
At peace,
In an uncomplicated paradise.