Roy Ernest Ballard
Bluebell Wood - Poem by Roy Ernest Ballard
Between the oaks and through the briars
and underneath the sycamores
the bluebells run like spirit fires,
inflaming on the leafy floors;
besetting lovers hotly yearning,
lying where the fire is burning.
Burning, burning all aflame
with a fire they cannot tame.
Nettles grow near Bluebell Wood
and rafters rot beside a wall
where other lovers came and stood
their names and faces past recall;
leaves and mould to nettles turning.
Turning, turning fallen petals,
unremembered, turn to nettles.
It's time that damps the lovers' flame,
impatient time that cannot stay
to learn a solitary name
but lets all passing pass away.
Blinkered time! But love is ranging
ever further, ever changing.
Changing, changing as we lie,
changing into love gone by.
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