JOHN Clare, the Northamptonshire nature poet, turns his sharp and sympathetic eye on a typical rural scene from Victorian times.

One can still occasionally see fields of gnawed turnips in the winter countryside.

SHEEP IN WINTER

The sheep get up and make their many tracks

And bear a load of snow upon their backs,

And gnaw the frozen turnip to the ground

With sharp quick bite, and then go nosing round

The boy that pecks the turnips all the day

And knocks his hands to keep the cold away

And laps his legs in straw to keep them warm

And hides beneath the hedges from the storm.

The sheep, as tame as dogs, go where he goes

And try to shake their fleeces from the snows,

Then leave their frozen meal and wander round

The stubble stack that stands beside the ground,

And lie all night and face the drizzling storm

And shun the hovel where they might be warm.