A field of blue
Stretches as far
As the eye can see;
Around, above, below.
Punctuated with the yellow
Of buttercups.
Young ferns unfurl
Like sea serpents
Between the trees.
Against a backdrop of green
The delicate bells
Develop.
Some still closed, yet to
Unleash their potential.
Teenagers, semi-awake,
Find their place and themselves.
Those in their prime
Fill the woods with their
Glorious blue-purple hue,
Six perfect curls
At the end of each bell.
Defined and confined
By Nature’s template –
No diversity here.
Jaded, the older ones fade
As their season burns out.
Bells curled a little too far,
Dark veins visible,
Mutton dressed as lamb.
These shade-dwellers enjoy
A short, spectacular splash,
Then it’s over.
Their sharp green foliage
The only reminder
Of past greatness.
They rest, recharge and restore
Ready for rebirth.