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Recently asked what inspires my writing, I couldn’t think of a reasonable answer as it is everyone and everything, every occasion and none. I found this charming sonnet from Keats and realised he might quite have felt the same, but perhaps we shouldn’t analyse too much just enjoy the moment:

On the Grasshopper and the Cricket – John Keats

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s – he takes the lead
In summer luxury,-he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening , when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket’s song in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.

 

Best wishes – Denny Bradbury

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