On an Easter weekend run,
Enjoying a bit of springtime sun
In Chiltern woods and up Chiltern Hills
I asked ‘What do you like best about spring?
’‘Primroses, Blossom, Bluebells’
Most said Bluebells – except for Gil
‘Blossom’ he said, ‘I’m a blossom man, me.’
Like Houseman and his Cherry Trees;
Loveliest of trees the cherry nowIs hung with blooms across the bough …
Then the wind begins to blow
And cold wet blossom falls
Not petals but snow
The hail assails us in the wind
Small white stones of ice and spite
‘Ah April can be the cruellest month’
as we run through the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.’
Time was when I walked through bluebell woods
As a child with my mum and dad
The beauty covers the woodland floor
But pick these flowers and their beauty is over
The fragile sadness of bluebells in bloom
A carpet of beauty, but over too soon
Summer growing nettles and brambles
Waiting to take over the woodland floor
Stinging and scratching in their rampant cover
But today I walk to the wood with mum
To Sulham to celebrate the bluebells again
Each year our pace a little slower
And stops for rest a little more often
But still walking here on this spring day
And mum says,‘How many more bluebell springs will I be able to walk this way’
And I think of Houseman’s doleful lines‘
Now of my three score years and ten, twenty will not come again.’
Lamenting that, although still young
Too few more times will he see the cherry bloom‘
And take from seventy years a score, It only gives me fifty more.’
But mum has four score years and five
And celebrates that she’s alive
Walking to the wood where the bluebells grow
To see them in their stunning show.
Kathy Tytler
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