The bells are ringing violet again

On sheltered woodland carpets

and pathways in Spring.

Their buds falling open

like soft waves of hair,

released from a pin.

These blue, shades of,

lift moods to summer days

from wintery lows.

For me, the bells chime

of childhood memories

I’d rather forget.

Of picking small bunches

to take home to mum,

to brighten her day.

By Me, 2021

But there is something else

that comes with

the bells of blue.

A sadness, that’s raw

and deep,

in vague memories

of one so young.

Of days when

nothing could stop

the uncertainity.

Where no flower

chimed bright enough

to light the dark shadows

that came.

I want to welcome

these blue beauties,

but I can’t.

I see shades of grey,

not violet.

I feel heartaches,

not wonder.

I see bells

where my tears

could run.

If I’d let them.

Maxine Bell 2021

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