BLUE BELL WOOD

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

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