The Bluebell Wood


I wish I could
return to my bluebell wood,
to see and smell
that bluebell dell,
a carpet of blue,
such a beautiful hue.
If you listened carefully,
you could hear them singing naturally.
The woods were alive,
where the bluebells thrived,
an ocean of blue,
to carry you through.

Oh, how I wish I could
return to the bluebell wood
at the end of the lane,
filled with fine refrain.
Only in late May,
such a wonderful day.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem