I heard the Bluebells ring

I heard the Bluebells ring

Beneath the shadow

Of an English Oak

As the grass grew

Lush and green

Every leaf striving

For survival

I heard a Nightingale sing

The moon grow bright

In a graveyard sky

As the wind blew

Memories

Between mourners

Waiting in dark corners

For the spirit

To come upon them

As the Bluebells tolled

With disregard

For any outcome

To their peeling

I heard children cry

As stories were told

Of the brave and bold

And understood that

Every word said

Was a true keening

Of sorrow

As well as goodbye.