In the summer time
When the rain interrupts
What is an interlude into slowing time down
There is a hilly
Somewhat strange Brown Willy
That escaped my most feared tread
So I visited his sister instead
To ease his imaginary dread.

Touristing under naked blue skies
I bumped into St Ives
And called in on St Nicholas,
He was out maybe on a boating trip,
Facing West as the freshest of fresh winds did rip
Through his hair and mine
There was a sea dangerous but welcoming
Blue beyond belief
Air that ravaged the lungs a brief
Deep relief.

In Ponckles house I had more luck
Cat worshipping artist was at home 
Lamenting over what had already been done
Waiting for the recession to take a jump and run.
Town of silver, tourists, blue sea and lively hearts
Where it refreshes the dank and empty parts.

Countryside of saints and narrow lanes
Lead me on to Looe in the rain
Crowded to bulging point
The town was masked by strangers’ bodies
A place to escape from,
Rather stay and study
But then August can be hell in Cornwall!
Bare stones and rocky hills
Hide nought but occasional bogs and lakes
The walks that literally takes
The breath away leaves you floating in another time.

 St Neots, to take a case in time,
Ancient church nestled in time worn hills
Basked in the sun standing firm in the wind,
Old rites in an ancient spiritual way
Living for the homecoming day
When the balance tips away
From the brassy life of chasing money
Towards following the spirit consciousness.

Siblyback and Colliford reserve their water
Against almost certain drought
Although the land was submerged
They had a scenic place in the tourists’ handbook
The brochures never explain the quietness,
The solitude that abounds in the Cornish landscape
The artist captures the colours
The writer explains the features
The visitor is rained on
The Cornish live in a paradise.