David, et al, Wendy Cope wrote him a little poem which, in its clarity and affecting simplicity, is worthy of its dedicatee:
John Clare
John Clare, last night I cried
For you--your grass-green coat,
Your oddness, others' spite,
Your fame, enjoyed and lost,
Your gift, and what it cost.
Awake in the early hours,
I heard you with my eyes,
Carolling woods and showers.
As if a songbird's throat
Could utter words, you wrote.
I listened late and long--
Each clear, true, loving note
Placed justly in its song.
Sometimes for sheer delight,
John Clare, I cried last night.
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