The finches of the land stood sentinel
to grazing flocks of black-faced sheep.
We drove roof down, your long hair pony-tailed,
through crumpled fields like kicked off sheets.
I dreamt we kissed and held each other’s hands.
I didn’t shake and you forgot your ills,
as on we wound through undulating lands,
bearing north to heathered Quantock hills.
I saw us awe-struck in one vivid scene –
standing where Coleridge dreamt Xanadu
( – what fantasies we summon in our dreams!),
then walking out in Sam and William’s shoes,
high over Crowcombe Vale and Porlock Weir,
the sacred river sounding in our ears.
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Additional information about the subject of this poem: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coleridge_Cottage
