By Brian Phillips, living with PH
Bluebells in a wood,
Carpeting the ground.
Race among the trees,
And soon each one surround.
Bluebells on their stems,
Nodding to the breeze.
Silently they ring,
To wake the sleepy trees.
Bluebells near and far,
Soon they will be gone.
Leaving just their thin green leaves,
Reminders of their song,
Bluebells in a wood,
Misty hues of blue.
Harbingers of Spring,
To gladden me and you.
