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.
Down by the rocks, where life feels at peace
where the stoney sand gets constantly washed away,
there, where the fishing boats turn out to sea
that was our beach, where we used to play.
Down by the lighthouse, where the wind blows
where the rivers journey ends to meet in the ocean,
there, where my love and affection for the sea grows
that still is home, with ever lasting devotion.
Margret Foulger |
