To mull over a gull
Nobody seems to know,
Though we know he's not a crow!
They just cant work it out,
Much debate and nagging doubt
He's our vagrant gull,
Over whom the experts mull!
In Cooktown, on the far-off coast
He sits alone upon his post.
The seasoned twitchers do arrive
No rain, no flood will stop their drive.
To see this bird and earn a tick,
Whilst making poorer birders sick.
But heres the problem, heres the twist,
What do they add to their list?
Is it Steppe, Slaty-backed or Thayers?
Time to call in the serious players!
Advice pours in thick and fast,
The technical detail leaves some aghast!
Maybe Vega or even Herring,
The outer webs will have a bearing!
This bird is shot from every angle,
Then over the snaps the experts wrangle,
For a while Mongolian takes the stage
But lately Vega's all the rage!
The problem is this gulls a teen,
His plumage lacks that adult gleen,
His unknown home he's given the slip
And did he fly, or jump a ship?
When all else fails there's DNA
But getting that we'd have to slay!
Not an option we'd all concur,
And so the answer remains a blur.
But no doubt in the end they will proclaim
Our vagrant gull now has a name!
One day the twitchers will smile and sing
With the tick BARC's final nod will bring!
David Taylor
Brisbane
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