From The Village Of John Clare Poem by Francis Duggan

I met a nice old lady in the park with her black poodle on a lead
She smiled and said a lovely day a lovely day indeed
She had a warmth about her this marvellous old dear
The marigolds were blooming it was their time of the year.

I detected an English accent and though I did not mean to pry
To ask her what place she came from I could not leave the chance go by
I asked what part of England did you come from she said from Helpston the Village of John Clare
He was a renowned Nature poet and People like him rare.

She continued when I was only twenty I yearned for places new
And I migrated to Australia in nineteen fifty two
The wanderlust was in me and I hit the wandering track
And to Helpston in Northampton I never did go back.

I married a good Aussie bloke in nineteen fifty four
And he like our son and daughter is not with me anymore
Our children died in a car crash in their twenties my husband passed on last year
Though I can sense their presence to me their spirits near.

My husband died of asbestos related cancer John Hardie's awful stuff
To see him suffer so much to say the least was tough
I felt happy for him when he passed on luck to him was unkind
His ashes on the beach at Shoreham I scattered to the wind.

Enough she said of my sob stories this here is my dog Matt
He wagged his stubby curly tail I gave his head a pat
She bid me goodbye with a sweet smile and shuffled on her way
The marigolds were blooming it was a lovely day.

A lovely gray haired lady from the Village of John Clare
He was a renowned Nature poet and people like him rare
She's had her ups and downs but that's life I do suppose
And the thorn can give a nasty prick on the green stem of the rose.