The Bluebells
written by: Ian Fletcher
I will walk as before
this fine morning
across green fields
to those woods
of my lost youth
with their carpets
of spring bluebells.
How her face lit up
when I returned
in time for lunch
with a fragrant bunch
of the wild flowers
to place in the vase
above the fireplace
a token of filial love.
I was the golden boy
who would grow up
to bring her such joy
in her declining years
yet I had disappointed
bringing her nothing
but trouble and sorrow.
Ah, I wish I had not
fallen by the wayside
and gone so far astray
all those years ago
causing her such pain.
But today I will walk
again to those woods
near the house
where once I dwelt
to pick spring bluebells
for old time’s sake.
Later, I will lay them
as twilight descends
with my lost hopes
and broken dreams
upon her silent grave.
- Golden Boy - July 8, 2024
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