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.
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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