The soft herald bells
are pealing,
in silence,
the advance of the year.
They are mute,
but not dumb,
for we hear
their message
with observant eyes.
We taste their blue,
in our nostrils,
as we explore garden and wood
searching
for the fairies
who hear their tolling.
The clangourous
alarm call of the bells
has foretold
our arrival
and the fairies
have returned to blossom
gently floating
in the breeze.
We are not disappointed
the blue cloud carpet
is mystic enough.
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