2 September 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 3

Mouse's Nest

by JOHN CLARE

I found a ball of grass among the hay

And progged it as I passed and went away;

And when I looked I fancied something stirred,

And turned again and hoped to catch the bird—

When out an old mouse bolted in the wheats

With all her young ones hanging at her teats;

She looked so odd and so grotesque to me,

I ran and wondered what the thing could be,

And pushed the knapweed bunches where I stood;

Then the mouse hurried from the craking brood.

The young ones squeaked, and as I went away

She found her nest again among the hay.

The water o'er the pebbles scarce could run

And broad old cesspools glittered in the sun.