Pic by Pixerella.
Awakened by the call of birds at dawn,
I follow quietly their lovely song
to misty forests hiding in the morn
where darkness lingers, but does not belong.
From far, I spy a captivating glow;
a bluish hue the trees try to conceal.
Then from the distance, as the cold winds blow,
a million dainty bells begin to peal.
A wonderland beneath the blue spring sky
where thrushes sing a melody so gay,
the bluebells dance, with their skirts wafting high,
in wild abandon as they bob and sway.
Delightful memories of it remain;
I have to wait till spring to see again.
