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.
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