Margret Foulger Poems

Down by the cliffs, where the seagulls cry
where the fishermen repair their torn and worn nets,
there in the grey old house, where my childhood lies
that was home, with memories I shall never forget.
...

Whilst pushing my way through the heavy grey sky
I pass clouds and birds that fly amazingly high,
with gathering speed I tumble in to a chestnut tree
from where I jump excitedly from leaf to leaf,
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An icy wind blows through the crystal clear, but stormy night,
as I walk the sandy beach with loneliness close to my right.
Only the wind and inner thoughts holding me tight as by force,
knowing of my fading trust in a world with little care or remorse.
...