Blue

Blue is burning bright and deep
in the gardens of my sleep.
The ordered flowers of my dreaming
Mirror summer midday’s gleaming —
at attention, standing guard,
all about a child’s yard.

I am aging now. Does this
set the night to reminisce
and move my dreaming eye to roam
the backyard of my boyhood home?
There a firm azure replaces
all the old remembered faces.
There the bright battalion smolders —
upright rows of bluebell soldiers.



(First published by Spillwords Press)

© Eric Robert Nolan 2022