For a gull on Cape Town station; (While reading Plato's Phaedrus) --

The bird is walking on its unaccustomed feet, Precise and fleet, On pavings made beyond its knowings. O strange sojourner At the comings and the goings Of the way, I, too, have been a wanderer Within the wheel and drift of things, Uncharted from the unknown skies Beyond my sight or eyes. Find me, O bird of the untrodden way, A way For feet As webbed in seas and skies, As neat As your immaculate footfall. I have no other For tomorrow or by brother Though I know the call.