In the Bluebell Woods ( Part I I )

IN THE BLUEBELL WOODS ( PART I I ) But none of these took my fancy As much as the myriad bluebells Which had spread to every shady nook and cranny Of the floor of the leafy sea. It was love at first sight. Every one of these tiny blue mermaids Had a straight smooth stem a few inches tall, And at the top every one turned down Her head shyly in silent blue whispers. These creatures were too delicate to pick, And it never even crossed My adoring mind to try, But I ran to my mother and pulled her By the little finger over to where The biggest clumps lay spread out taking their ease. Unnecessary to pick any of the bluebells; It was sufficient to have a short conversation with them and about them. Of the end of the woods trip…..I have no memory. Indeed, I cannot really recollect The day ending at all. The lack of time sense when you are four Has the advantage of allowing What may well be a short, intensely-lived experience To telescope into a one of much longer duration, Sometimes without any definite end. It may be that The bluebell woods of Shotley Bridge Were no more than the overgrown garden Of some elderly maiden aunt Whom my mother was visiting that day, Or perhaps they weren’t in reality Located in Shotley Bridge at all, But in some other location - But they were there somewhere, And I had really seen them, I had really smelled them. To try to recapture childhood memories Is like trying to preserve The beauty of a flower By picking it for a collection. Its beauty is gone with the picking.