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Wind-free the great gulls soar Above the cresting waves, along the beach, Above the rugged cliffs that stand Against the ocean, guarding the reach Of land above the marshes, salt With centuries of moving tide. The birds fly, effortless and sure, Catching the wind currents, each one rides In long smooth arcs above the sea. Their ceaseless crying cuts the air Like marks to punctuate the constant Conversation of the waves.

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