Bluebells

In quiet fields where soft winds weave,

The bluebells bow, the grasses grieve,

Their slender heads in twilight’s hue,

Whispering secrets, old yet new.

 

A thousand blooms in oceans spread,

Each petal sings where footsteps tread,

A tender hush, a painted sigh,

Of days that drift and dreams that fly.

 

The emerald blades, the velvet skies,

Reflect the wonder in their eyes—

Tiny stars that brush the ground,

Where silence wears a blooming crown.

 

O fleeting blue, O fleeting light,

You shimmer once, then fade from sight,

Yet in your dance the heart can see

The endless pulse of memory.

Done