Dog rose scented air.
wedding bells afar.
Harebells & summer fairs
Wild flower champion
The scarlet poppy!
Treading on wispy grasses;
Soft silk bed of fresh miniature flora.
Soaring high –
Singing lingers like lover’s whispers
Before vanishing through dreamy vapours.
Cow parsley’s filigree fountains
Shower the wake of Ox Eye daisies.
Hazy white petals slightly dazed,
Enjoy sherbet scented kissing wind.
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.
Clouds of buttery yellow billow;
Brimstones and Commas drenched
In honeyed pollen,
Wings tilting elegantly
Dancing in sunshine.
Unfortunately those gorgeous delicate butterflies won’t linger long enough! But it is wonderful to watch them.
Rapeseed oil I hear is very good for us, especially if it is cold pressed. It can help painful joints.
Happy Easter all! 🙂
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!
Small heart translucent face,
Peeping shyly through downy lace.
Awakened by a sour biting breeze,
Which makes her cower, she
Curls up, sheltering under boughs
Of mighty beech trees.
Suddenly a shower of frosty crystals
Adorn the mysterious, tearful princess,
Crowning her with a spectacular tiara
As the dryad minstrels play their lyres.
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.