The First Soft Touch Of Summer Dreams Poem by Robert Creffield

Was it really us that slept that day in early summer ‘67
on the banks of the Gannel at Crantock Bay tired
from our trip on the midnight train from London
Paddington, and first dreamed of living in
Cornwall, the tiny seeds of destiny spreading in
our veins like the grass that binds the dunes?

Was it really us that trod moonlight paths and strolled
the village lanes, hands clasped tight in evening
shadow light by the old churchyard dark with age
and mystery, and sat in the Albion pub young and
light you with your glass of Bitter Lemon and me
with a pint of ale lost in dreams concealed?

Was it really us that stood on the black night beach with
eyes as bright as the North Star and watched the
moon torch a path across the darkened sea for
each wave to reach rock and shore obediently
with plumes of spray silent in their dissolving
fate to be no more?

Was it really us that lay locked tight in our caravan bed
young and learning and happy the night was long
with the first soft touch of summer your warm breath
cooled my eyes and my lips pursed to kiss your cheek
and the world closed in sweet oblivion as we slept with
dreams of Cornwall life together stretching far ahead?