Martin Robertson

Now and Then

Out from the Cliff

Out from the cliff birds wheel wild, a white

fan, scattering wide over the water,

dwindling, lost.  


Fledged presently, son, daughter,

circle, take flight

from ours to outer world, build worlds in

differing ways their own.  When we fold

fond revisiting loves, cheek will be cold,

salt from sea-wind.