It’s May, so the bluebells are out.
Image by Herbert Aust from Pixabay
Bluebells
Blue, blue,
Everywhere blue.
Bluebells your eyes they will woo.
Blue, blue,
A sea of blue
A sight you never will rue.
Blue, blue,
Woodland floor, blue
Gleaming with droplets of dew.
Blue, blue,
Bells of deep blue.
Such a magnificent hue.
Blue, blue,
Fallen sky, blue.
But under the trees they grew.
Blue, blue, all around, blue.
Such a beautiful view.
Do you like bluebells? I used to pick them from a woodland near where I lived, when I was a child. It wasn’t forbidden then!
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Dragons Rule OK. V.M.Sang (author) 
I love flowers of all sorts, Viv, but I’ve never seen a forest of blue bells. What a treat. Your poem is a wonderful tribute to the beautiful spring blue!
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Glad you enjoyed it, Diana. The carpets of bluebells are quite amazing.
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Sounds like a nice nod to David Bowie
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David Bowie was a long way from my mind when I wrote this. Must have been some subconscious thought.
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Tapping into the subconscious is a rare gift especially when accompanied by both sound and vision
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It is indeed. Even if one is unaware of it. Although, I suppose if one were aware, it wouldn’t be subconscious, would it?
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Some friends of mine have had bluebells growing in their London garden. They also saw bluebells growing in a wood in Croydon. So, even in the midst of the busy city bluebells can be found. I like most flowers. The flat wer I live has a big communal garden with lots of flowers and trees. But I miss having my own bit of garden and always enjoy seeing other people’s gardens, and enjoy those growing wild.
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