April Bluebell

A Poem to Celebrate the Arrival of April Bluebells

April Bluebell

A grey day
In a wet wood.
Smell of damp earth
And an east wind.
Could be winter still
But for a sharp green
That speaks of a warmer breeze.
But for a blue haze
Moves like mist on the marsh.
Could be the spirit of the forest.
A ghost army
Bearing aloft a memory of spring sun.
That was yesterday
With summer still to come.

Bluebells in Abermawr Wood, Pembrokeshire

Bluebells in Abermawr Wood, Pembrokeshire

Megan’s Poetry

Megan wrote this evocative poem a few months before the symptoms of her cancer began to be felt. It is one of my favourite poems. So simple, so observant, and – as was so often the case with Megan’s poetry – hinting at a spiritual awareness.

The Bluebells of Kent

The bluebells are late this year. In Kent, where Megan made her home and where she died, they are just beginning to appear through the leaf litter of the county’s ancient woods. Soon there will be a blue perfumed carpet as far as the eye can see.

This and other poems are published in the memoir I created following Megan’s death five years ago from cancer of unknown primary (CUP). She was 32. Wordsmith: The Gift of a Soul is a celebration of Megan’s life.


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