Memories of Summer Days

By Dave Schofield

Beneath the shadowed cool wall
The town ended
The whip-crack of urbanisation
Rolled out echoing into the fields

The hay, fingers of dry water washing me
Like your golden hair which smelt of soap bubbles
The sky loomed endlessly
Until as day fell it became black like pouring tar.

The stars divided the sky between them
Hoarse and hungry we were, marching back on rippled cobbles
Your sweet hair tickling my lips
Your blushing warm cheek hidden smooth beneath it.