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STRANGE under land trees,
In gray of evening,
The sea bird,
Walking the wood-path
To dark appointment.

Hearing my step, he hurried,
Fell forward, rose, walking on,
Spreading his wings for balance,
Going sedately,
As if he had never learned flight
In the wild nest of his hatching.

I lifted him light and quiet
As any barn fowl, man-trusting.
At home on my arm
The wings I had seen as a speck
In the open skies of his coasting,
Or tilted for dainty landing
On wet precarious cliff —
Now accepting my strangeness
Bemused and calm,
In dim transition,
Lost and yet led,
Serene in foreknowledge
Of a new nest,
A new egg to be chipped,
Another hatching.

He had come at a good hour;
I thanked him for his teaching,
And gave him sea burial.