Bluebells clustered in wooded parks
echo the bright sky
a white cloud marks
a shadow as it passes by
drifting slowly the sun hides for a moment unseen
what majesty in this holy dance
the rhythm of life
no turmoil patterned shape spoils this scene
set clear in god’s own hand
then the smudge and crash of man
destroys perfection’s land
marring the flower buds
tearing the winsome swirl
of breeze blown graceful stems
this breath of life dies down
and sleeps through summer sun
and autumn’s rustic colours
quiet and still in winter’s sleep
then again in springtime
a new life begins to peep.
Jennie starling: may1st 2021.
