BLUEBELL WOOD

I took a walk in nearby Bluebell wood,
A wild flower garden arched by aspen trees,
When sunshine casts its searchlight beam on these,
We’re raised to God, the blessed and the Good.
This is the home of Beauty if it’s understood;
Art without Her will always cease to please
Nor take Soul back to worship on her knees,
As poetry, music, painting truly should.

A painter came to Bluebell Wood to catch
Its wonder on his canvas in due course;
Try as he might his skill could never match
The magic marvel of Mother Nature’s force.
He realised there was a limit to his power
To capture the God-like beauty of that sacred hour.