I grab my journal to jot down fragments that rhyme.            
My boring assignments can wait a short time.
In my mind is a dreamscape all my own,
Designed to be like the fields you had known.

Splashes of white dot the land and sky —
The daisies swaying and clouds drifting by.
The breeze blows through my loosened hair,
And carries away any trouble or care.

In beautiful harmony
With a tranquil melody,
The alto tone of my humming
Blends with the brook’s babbling
And the bees’ buzzing.

I tiptoe on the ground
To hear the nightingale sing
So careful to not make a sound
Lest she stop and take wing
Because she is shy.

A leafy forest ceiling is my cathedral dome
Where my prayer ascends to Heaven’s throne.
I worship in a place untouched by man or woman –
The Holy Spirit my perfect Companion.

The invisible wavelengths of time
Run parallel and perfectly align.
Past and present scenes are shown
Of two people, each happy to be alone.

I can almost see the silhouette
Of the dear peasant poet.
I wish you were there.
I love you, John Clare.