The bluebells now have finally gone
back to the earth that bore them,
all my life I’ll dread their bloom
for they mark a time of mourning.
Their coming fills me with the
sweetest memories of you,
and reveals the garden of my heart
its sorrows, joys and truth.
The forest floor, all purple glory
and scented gently sweet,
one May we strolled its serene path
a meadow at our feet.
A year passed by then you were gone
before the month of June,
and came the anguish of my soul –
you left this world too soon.
If only I could hear your voice,
the tender things you’d say,
the earth itself bows to my grief
with bluebells every May.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem