Song of the Seagull

Twilight-time, the MCG, seagulls now are flying free, as old men clean the littered stands, the seagulls spy the fertile land, the hordes have left in trams and trains, only corporate men remain, and while they sip their cold champagne the seagulls sing in joyful strains: “When you leave the footy ground, we fly in [Read more]