Strangers

I grew up in a seaside, rural spot.

Where the winters were cold, and the summers were hot.

Spent sunny days on the riverbank fishing all day.

Until the bailiff came and chased us away.

We’d play games on the beach and soak up the sun.

Until the day the strangers come.

They took over the beach and chased us away.

And told us to find somewhere else to play.

More and more strangers arrived every year.

The farms were built on as jobs disappeared.

The strangers kept coming and were happy to pay.

And purchased our homes for somewhere to stay.

The place is now heaving on hot summer days.

The locals are busy on minimum wage.

Priced out of the village where they had all grown.

And generations before them had always called home.

Our magical haven of tranquillity

Is now full of holiday homes down by the sea.

Many who grew up there no longer belong.

The strangers now own it and the locals have gone.