By John Clare
All nature has a feeling: woods, fields, brooks
Are life eternal; and in silence they
Speak happiness beyond the reach of books;
There's nothing mortal in them; their decay
Is the green life of change; to pass away
And come again in blooms revivified.
Its birth was heaven, eternal is its stay,
And with the sun and moon shall still abide
Beneath their day and night and heaven wide.
Note: Today is the birthday of the English poet John Clare who was born on this day in 1793. Each year on his birthday, the children of his village make little flower posies and then they lay them on his grave where they read poems they write in his honor.