Twixt Beltane and Litha, harbinger blooms,

Offering blessings, sweet tokens of love,

It’s violet whorls with heady perfumes,

Gifts to honour those crossed and above.

Childhood reminders, the dawn of warms days,

Innocent laughter and damming of brooks.

Revered by mothers, in warning they’d say,

To welcome you inside, invites bad luck.

Your name so English, but foreign by birth,

A Grecian wood nymph once longed for by Pan.

From you he made pipes, for dancing and mirth,

If only music could soothe our torn land.

A fleeting presence, blooms soon to perish,

Come the wheel’s full turn, Lilac we’ll cherish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Read the rest of my works at grahamparkerpoetry.com