Young Love

The bluebells swayed in the spring breeze, wafting their perfume in the air. He bent and saw a white one on the ground, picked it up carefully, placed it in her hair. Her dark locks shone were washed anew, the white flower looked so right lying there. She smiled a dimpled smile to say, “thank you”, All he could do was stand and stare At the blue green colour of her eyes, showing the trust, that only the young can do. He gently took her hand, to her surprise he kissed her fingers, but missing two. We best walk home she said with a smile Better we don't stay in this field alone. He nodded, turned away to climb back over the stile two little five year olds, on their way home. Penned 7 May 2015