A bluebell wood, such a sight to see,
Blue haze wrapped softly around each tree.
Sweet perfume just drifting through the air,
Oh, how I wish that I could be there.
So restful to the eyes and the mind,
A beauty that is so well defined.
One sea of blossom over the ground,
Oh, how I wish to observe, spellbound.
Those stems of bells, that silently ring,
Welcoming in the newly born spring.
A mass of flowers, a carpet fine,
Oh, how I wish that they could be mine.
© Ernestine Northover
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