Soft, fresh leaves that touch my skin,
As I walk through the Bluebell Wood.
Stirring memories, deep within,
Of happy days, when all was good.
Dew drenched ground, beneath my feet,
A path we took, so often then.
With scent so sweet, of Bluebells picked,
Oh, to be that girl again.
Distant echoes, with me now,
Of childhood friends, who've now moved on.
I hear them laugh, the fun we had,
The past is here, but they are gone.
I wander through, that sea of blue,
Then kneel, to touch the stems of green,
So many times, I picked for you,
A bunch for Mum, my special Queen.
Then off I go, and head for home,
I'll leave you now, and keep you safe.
A memory held, a memory loved,
My perfect scene, my special place.
Jayne Louise Davies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem