a tiresome windbag and a crashing bore
walked along a pebbled shore
the windbag spoke of the meaning of life
the bore of his unloving wife
a seagull watched as they grew near
and saw the windbag brush a tear
from his pale and fluttering eye
beneath the gray and cloudswept sky
the seagull had no notion
of the cause of the windbag's emotion
but scanned the wide and desolate beach
for edibles within his reach
alas, alas, the windbag cried
as he scanned the detritus of the tide
my life its course has near run through
but i have not received my due
o why is humanity imbued
with inexplicable ingratitude
for all that i have striven
why is no acknowledgement given?
the bore now caught the seagull's eye
like his, it was exceeding dry
and seemed to wander as the windbag
on his one note continued to drag
the horizon showed no mighty ships
but a bag of wise potato chips
caught the seagull's pertinent gaze
the wind had blown the bag a ways
the unbroken bag contained a feast
to delight a human, bird or beast
a potent mix of salt and grease
to fuel a creature's inner peace
the windbag with the bore kept pace
as raindrops began to hit their faces
the wind picked up, the tide grew higher
the windbag's voice did not expire
they continued down the beach's curve
but from their natures did not swerve
each one talked, but nothing said
until the sinking sun turned red
the night grew dark, and damp, and cold
across the waves their voices rolled
the windbag swore, the bore insisted
the seagull forgot that they existed
Oh, the brilliance.
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