The Trouble with Avian Species

A blue seagull in a brown hat,
With a suit,
A bunch of dollars,
And the wind behind his wings,

Proposed to my wife.

He landed several kisses
During lunch,
And then during supper.

He told her life was cheaper
On the transatlantic route,

And that the rooted trees
Have much to lament.


And thus they promptly went
Away.

The only thing left of her,
A negligee,
Lost in their ascent.