Britain has over 50% of the world's bluebell population. I'm happy to say that on a recent visit to the Lake District, I saw more bluebells than I realised still existed. The native English bluebell is in danger of being invaded and hybridised by the Sp
in April Sunshine we did take.
Leni and Rosie, and our Charles too,
breathless we were, at many a view.
'Neath blazing sun we saw heavenly views,
a favourite one was not easy to choose.
God's Springtime gift, in welcome shade,
we found a magical bluebell glade.
Several woods and glades we found,
covered in Bluebells on the ground.
The silence still, the magic deep
an image in my heart I keep.
Childhood stories bring to mind
flowers of every woodland kind,
Wind-flower, Ladies Smock, violet sweet,
and carpets of bluebells around our feet.
It's not enough to stand and sigh,
as bluebells stretch before the eye.
No words describe this mytic blue,
as bluebells fill our farthest view.
The lovliest flowers ever seen,
all there beneath the beechen-green.
As sweeps of Blubells bathed my eye
my heart let out an anguished cry.
We must protect this wealth of ours,
bathed by sunlight and April showers.
Our Island holds many precious flowers that bloom,
but global warming will see them off soon.
Britain holds fifty percent of them all,
in April and May it's a free-for-all.
Let's protect our land, and our flowers too,
for your children, your grandchildren, wildlife too.
Ever since our Planet's birth,
little secret songs have spilled from the Earth.
Little songs of white, and scarlet and blue,
God's wild-flowers, for me and for you.
Poetry by normalil
Read 611 times
Written on 2007-05-13 at 13:45
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BLUEBELLS
A Springtime trek around Coniston Lake,in April Sunshine we did take.
Leni and Rosie, and our Charles too,
breathless we were, at many a view.
'Neath blazing sun we saw heavenly views,
a favourite one was not easy to choose.
God's Springtime gift, in welcome shade,
we found a magical bluebell glade.
Several woods and glades we found,
covered in Bluebells on the ground.
The silence still, the magic deep
an image in my heart I keep.
Childhood stories bring to mind
flowers of every woodland kind,
Wind-flower, Ladies Smock, violet sweet,
and carpets of bluebells around our feet.
It's not enough to stand and sigh,
as bluebells stretch before the eye.
No words describe this mytic blue,
as bluebells fill our farthest view.
The lovliest flowers ever seen,
all there beneath the beechen-green.
As sweeps of Blubells bathed my eye
my heart let out an anguished cry.
We must protect this wealth of ours,
bathed by sunlight and April showers.
Our Island holds many precious flowers that bloom,
but global warming will see them off soon.
Britain holds fifty percent of them all,
in April and May it's a free-for-all.
Let's protect our land, and our flowers too,
for your children, your grandchildren, wildlife too.
Ever since our Planet's birth,
little secret songs have spilled from the Earth.
Little songs of white, and scarlet and blue,
God's wild-flowers, for me and for you.
Poetry by normalil
Read 611 times
Written on 2007-05-13 at 13:45
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
