Each morning as my ears receive

so bittersweet, your piping call,

I tilt my head to see you stand,

there dapper on the felted cliff,

surveying your adopted land.

The roof a lofty shingle beach,

whereon to scrape a make do nest.

The landscaped grounds an estuary,

there from to rip elastic worms,

then toot your triumph noisily.

I see that you are just like me,

a misfit, lost and out of place,

surviving here against the odds.

I wonder do you miss the sea,

or taste of coastal arthropods?

Oli 11/05/08