An abundance of bluebells,they're painting my lawn.
A garden, a blaze with such lush vegetation.
At the moment, just a mere sea of green, not burst into bud yet.
When they do my garden will be wearing purity; freshness, dressed in a flash mauve overcoat.
My garden's more wild than my child, a daughter, near busting. Soon to oust the  fresh piece of life growing inside her; he the infant soon due to be born.
The bud of her belly is blooming, as like the bluebells he's soon to break free.
(C) OLIVIA