You can blame someone called Claire for this! She asked me if I wrote poetry so I said I’d have a go. So here goes ... I’m winging it.
Once a year and every year a fragrant carpet blooms
On forest floors it starts to show
The haze of blue with heads bowed low
Yet ne’er been near a loom
This carpet floor you see my friends has quietly been sleeping
Those little plants have lain all snug
Through winters cold and snowy rug
No single one was peeping
Waiting underneath the soil till their appointed time
Then without fuss they poke their heads
Toward the sun, they leave their beds
And start to look sublime
Yes thousands in their number they spread out far and wide
And on each plant so many bells
Where fairies practice magic spells
On elves who try to hide
These bluebells don’t need grooming or ways to hide their flaws
They’re just content to be themselves
No fuss or make up on their shelves
We humans are such bores
Why don’t we take a lesson from these truly splendid flowers
No questions about identity
No need for wealth or pity
To waste such precious hours
Let’s be content with who we are and what we have today
Like the bluebell’s simple beauty
The fragrance comes from just to be ...
You ... there is no better way.
Ingrid x
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