"The real trick to life is not to be in the know, but to be in the mystery."
-Fred Alan Wolf

05 June 2016



How sweet is a stroll in the field
With the peas and bean blossoms in bloom
What a sweet smelling fragrance they yield
As they bloom on a Sunday at noon
Oh I love the footpath that takes
To the clear gravel brook on its way
I walk on its banks for it makes
A beautiful saunter in May
Where the Lamb toe clumps still
Red and yellows each hill
And the brook whimpling music the whole summers day

'Twas on a sweet Sunday at noon
Delightfully sweet was the hour
The wild rose was just in its bloom
And a humble bee crept in the flower
The water like silver ran by
And gulped oer the pebbles and stones
Like silk did the seeded grass lie
O'er which the wind softly oft moans
The mossy stones wemble
The bowed rushes tremble
And the chafed waters murmur their sighs and their groans

'Twas a beautiful Sunday at noon
And not one of the sheep seem'd afraid
I'd got on my best Sunday shoon
And was in my new clothing array'd
All the fields had their green Jackets on
Oh they never looked gayer than then
On that day with its bright glowing sun
Oh when will they bloom so again
And the silk reeded grass
Shading brooks clear as glass
Oh it whispers sweet music to children of men

John Clare

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