The Muse

When with my wife and son, I first gazed down At the beauty of Derwentwater in Keswick town I was moved to awe, admiration and sheer reverence For I was graced with beauty of such immense presence. Such scenery, hitherto, I had only vicariously seen On the artist’s canvas and the cinema screen And of the awe, it could, in us mortals inspire I had read of in many a poet’s quire. No matter the angle, position or perspective This was natural beauty, a landscape most emotive Of verdant islands in a lake shimmering in the sun And of shades of green, that did, to the horizon run. Of majestic mountains masked by slivers of mist And swans whose necks did gracefully twist To the sounds and chirps that filled the air As I simply continued to “stand and stare” At flecks of white scattered all across the dale Content to, in such beauty, ruminate and regale As the sun shone down and the wind rapaciously blew At the stream of tourists that steadily grew Yes, this was nature in its grandeur and pomp Through which man could at his leisure romp And take in this theatre of such verdant green That has for more than centuries been An inspiration for “emotions oft recollected in tranquillity” The muse for a simple and rustic school of poetry.