The Bluebells, a poem written by Ian Fletcher at Spillwords.com
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The Bluebells

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.

Ian Fletcher

Ian Fletcher

Born and raised in Cardiff, Wales, Ian has an MA in English from Oxford University. He lives in Taiwan with his wife, two daughters and cat. He teaches English in a high school. He has had poems and short stories published in Duane’s PoeTree, Tuck Magazine, Best Poetry, The Ekphrastic Review, 1947 A Literary Journal, Spillwords Press, Dead Snakes, Your One Phone Call, Schlock! Webzine, Short-story.me, Literary Yard, Indian Periodical, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Poems and Poetry, Friday Flash Fiction, The Drabble, and in various anthologies.
Ian Fletcher

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