Poem of the week: Clock a Clay by John Clare

Clare struggled in the Romantic age, but this attentive study to a small creature leaves one dreaming of the hero he might have been in our era

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In the cowslips peeps I lye

Hidden from the buzzing fly

While green grass beneath me lies

Pearled wi’ dew like fishes eyes

Here I lye a Clock a clay

Waiting for the time o’day

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