Bluebells

You walked to the bottom of the valley

To see all the flowers below

You saw all the indian paintbrush,

And the bluebells all in a row

You watched as the sun grew colder,

And the shadows, they fell to your knees

You went back to look for the river,

But it was lost in the trees

And you said: Which one would my darling like?

Which ones has she never seen?

Which ones would remind her of nothing,

But forgotten parts of her dreams?

By now you must have been certain

That it had all been a lie

Each sapling and each drop of syrup

Was straight from a demon’s eye

You were left with no choice but to ignore it

Like a child who knows what he knows

Yet you thought: Which way would my darling go?

Which way spells out home?

Which way should I ignore

Lost to forever roam?