Masters Keys by john clare

I continue today with the many,many poems(if you call them that)from Facebook Notes that mostly have gone unseen, unread, uncommented on...placing them on blog so they can continue unseen,unread,uncommented upon...life of bad poetry...
this latest entry relates to finding a set of keys from my fathers place. The doors,gates,trunks that they opened long gone, unknown.

I came upon the keys to the garden
Tucked deeply away in the tin box
Rusting and dusty were the closed
Master Locks
In brittle leather pouches on
soft brass hardened.

Once upon the hinges the gates
swung wide
The yellow Gravely passing
through to unturned fields
Neatly hung in the shed the
tools of abundant yields
The little boy hoeing at the
Gardener's side.

And then he sent me with the keys
The Master waiting patiently
in the furrowed dust
To the little one the keys in his trust
My first prayers, Dear God!
The Garden depends upon me!

And in a sweet click and a
quick turn
I ran with the precious water
for the seed
The Master pleased with the
little boys deed
As wide-eyed there was so much
to learn.

And so the keys to the garden
are in my hands
The old Gravely waits for me
to turn the key
But the gate is gone along
with the property.
I hope the Master understands.