Homage to John Clare

This is the poet I have come to love
For his closeness to nature’s best.
His way with words pretends simplicity.
His observations touch my soul.
From a poor start to life itself
Came such works of the imagination
And beauty to awake my spirit.
His is the birthing of loveliness,
The awakening of wonder.
How sad was his end of his days,
With a troubled mind of madness
That missed his former ways.
My treasure is the weeks I have spent
In his spiritual presence,
Learning to know his country ways
In this age of lost innocence.
His was the liking for grace
Which I shall now redeem.