Bluebells

The chestnuts are in full flower and the sycamores are humming with bees, Meadow grass is knee deep full of flowers, the dog rose climbs up a fence, The cowslips sway gently like the sea in the corner of a lime green meadow, Cowslips retire at the end of May their day is now over we say a sad goodbye. Blackberry bushes burst into glowing white flowers protected by sharp thorns, Grass grows higher around the hedges of the glade than a working corn field, Sitting on a bank by a river gushing, bubbling and boiling from earlier rains, And in the grey shrubbery a squirrel plays in the grass and two swallows sing. Nests are found high in the trees and deep bushes guarded by jealous mums, Lapsing waters and blossoms are perfect partners and sweet grasses rustle, The blossoms of the many apple trees change and blow away by a May breeze, Blossom floats on rushing water sailing away swirling towards the rough sea. The old quince is in full bloom with its pale flowers and bright yellow leaves, The weather is warm not too hot just right for a long stroll with a midday sun, Walk the river banks with its mustard tribes next to the mature giant colts-foot, Wander over to a copse of trees hiding blue-bells that are singing and ringing.