Bluebells

I meandered happily on my way
to Grasmere via Loughrigg Fell
When all at once I spied a haze,
a purple peal of spring bluebells,
ringing in peace in the morning breeze
near the rocky path along the fell

Blue heads bobbing, clappers mute,
en masse an iridescent violet hue,
amidst the brown unfurling whorls
of knee-high bracken’s baby fronds
A purple peal of spring bluebells
Seen from the path on Loughrigg fell

Laid out below is Grasmere Water -
a jig-saw vista in green and blue
Beyond the bluebells’ violet hue
A swimmer stroked from shore to shore
a doggie paddled paw by paw
The terrace view half down the fell

The route zig-zagged down through the woods
It was cooler, darker, but the silver shine
of mirrored waves danced through the trees
as Grasmere water’s kissed by the breeze
which wafted wild garlic - repulsive smell
as I followed the path at the foot of the fell

Beside the lake, I saw the road
bringing tourists in by the coach load,
to visit William Wordsworth’s home
My purple peal of spring bluebells
tolled out in silence from the fell
and asked “Where are all the daffodils?”