Bluebells.
Just as the cool morning mist reflects on the summer dew before the heat of a day.
Just as ones fleeting footsteps weave a path through the fallen autumn leaves of amber.
Just as the Bluebells radiate their warmth in the passion and excitment of spring.
If one looks into time, like the feeling of the internal depths of winter.
One can find imperceptibly a light that flickers truth, both bright and honest, as taught by the seasons of this world.
Perhaps to pause in these moments brings clarity.
Oh Bluebells, how I love thy to cradle me.
These points, do they hold relevance?
It is both emphatic and profound like the magic of the woods that these majestic layers of blue are thrown out under, like a changing carpet within time.
Lost, lost in your beauty forever.
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