Delightful dahlia melody,
Honey bee settles.
Midsummer meadows cheers our hearts.
Bees reeling in floppy poppies,
Quaint corn cockles and radiant daisies jostle with lazy scabious
Lofty butterflies surf the breeze filled with meadowsweet mist.
Wishing seeds glimmer in honeyed rays,
Teazels sentinels of the fields, guard the wildflower maze.
Haystacks rest on dusty fields waiting for midsummer to heal.
Silk swirling frocks,
Mingling at the summer ball.
A scented breeze,
Timely sends bursting buds to
Rest upon the lawn.
Purposely the lover places them in
A wicker box, ties it tight with forget-me-nots;
With red rose ink he pens
‘Holly meet me tonight at the folly’.
The story begins.
Summer colour in the cottage garden
The above link to my Lavendermoongirlsbrownharecottage wp site will take you to where the inspiration came from for this poem and photo and will give you more insight into my cottage garden.
Morning’s dampness on my hands.
I find a torn seam in elemental’s veil;
Ask to enter the precious trail.
Nose wrinkling as plumes of bluebells waft;
Lost in a deep purple blue lake,
Their wizened branches seeking light,
Orange tip butterflies flee with all their might!
I take a sip of Titania’s tea,
Finding myself mixing a pool of morning dew
With soothing dainty hues from the bluebell wood
on my watercolour palette ready for a new painting to emerge.
like a lace wedding veil,
torn in a March gale;
sailing on scented winds
like fairy wings-
bringing spring’s tingling feeling
of happy, lingering, sunny days.
This poem is dedicated to yesterday’s International Poetry Day and a celebration of spring.
I’m really enjoying our walks in the countryside around Cople. Each day I wonder how many more buds are out, what suprises are there under the hedgerows: daisies, celedine, anemonies and tiny violets. Skylarks serenade us along the paths at the edges of fields and red kites circle above. Our prize is watching the brown hares running along the furrows and sunning themselves. Such beauty is to be savoured every moment!
The misty morn peels,
Revealing sentinels of wintery fields.
Tallow rays, like a sweet mead glaze
Healing: a warming haze.
Treading through the meadow, footsteps as light as a fae,
Amazingly, brightening the day,
A pretty, pixie flower called sweet violet
Appears alone, shielded by the sleeping hedgerow
And wrapped with ivy and bay.