Those golden shores


Those summer days, riding Cornish lanes,
battered steed across wild, wind-swept plain,
wending tracks down cliffs, dancing those jigs
as good friends strummed, plucked, drummed at merry gigs;
sipping rattler, finding cosy, packed pub
serving cold cider and fine Cornish grub.
Golden days, precious times, enshrined in mind,
smiling faces, rich banter, left behind.
New stories to make, not quiet the same
though life plods on: this timeless, ancient game.
To live forever in that fairyland
would be bliss, be golden, be grand.
Yet time dances on at that pace you played,
new sites to see, new friendships, new love made
as new self found away from hollowed ground
and old self lost by distance crossed.

25 of 100 Sonnets

On Thursday, the sonnet marked the quarter way mark of the 100 day challenge. It seems fitting it should be based on a photo taken in Cornwall by a good friend of mine, Sam. (You can find more of his awesome photos at: )
Cornwall is where I lived for five years, discovering its gems and finding treasure in those around me: many of whom I count amongst my closest of friends. It will always be a part of me and it has taken me a year to finally say: I’m glad I lived there and I’m glad I’ve now moved on. The above, in a way, is a toast to that sweet place filled with precious sights and decent, well-meaning folk


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