Fulham

Fulham by the Thames, where old streets sigh,
A quiet borough beneath a grey‑blue sky,
Cottage walls of brick, a stadium’s low roar,
Where swans glide past the water’s gentle floor.

The market stalls shout in Cockney cadence,
Fish and chips wrapped in newspaper’s essence,
Rain‑slicked pavements reflect the lamp‑post glow,
While double‑deckers crawl, steady and slow.

From Putney Bridge to the parks’ leafy hush,
Footsteps echo of lovers’ gentle rush,
And in the echo of a distant chant,
Fulham’s heart beats—steady, true, and staunch.

So raise a pint to the riverside town,
Where history lingers and fortunes crown,
In every cobblestone, every cheer,
Fulham stands—beloved, sincere.