The Time Of Bluebells Poem by Elia Michael

It is the time of bluebells
They flourish in England’s woods
Where elves weave their magic spells
While wearing little green hoods

If you enter the forest
You will see a sea of blue
A joy to any florist
But also to me and you

Did you know that they tinkle?
To hear them you must believe
In that old Rip Van Winkle
And be innocent and naïve

For only then can you be
Immersed in a magic world
Where you are finally free
And all your sadness is hurled

Into the far blue yonder
Where no person can wander