The blue dress saga 8

A sea of bells bluer
Cyanic and true
A great undulation
Of sapphires on view
Look to the horizon
Between the tall trees
The ice and the powder
The ubiquitous Bee’s

Waves of true vastness
Eternity rolls
Incessant and flowing
InfinIte goals
My blue dress has heightened
My honest desire
I now view the colours
The depth and the fire

Before me a heavy horse
Enlivened and strong
Reliably sure
Who does belong
To lighterman smithy
A bender of sorts
With realisation
and the deepest of thoughts

Quite the intellectual
A bluestocking we hear
With a dab hand at painting
Quick witted it’s clear
It was good to meet him
Me in my blue dress
But he could see me
He had to confess

He was a magician
A witch too me thinks
He worked by the rede
His mystery pinks
Into many spells
At his house down the way
Covered in wisteria
And a garden of May

I told him that he was the
Only one who
when I wore my blue Dress
Who could see me too
That it had been fashioned
By faeries and they
Had knitted by hand
Using woad night and day

Otherwise only the animals
Could
Make out her form
Only souls that were good
With every stitch a spell
Was cast
And the result was spell fixing
Last

The canal was nearby
And a coal boat or two
Bringing provisions
To people like you
Steamed up and down
On A purposeful trip
To the back of beyond
All losing their grip
On reality daily
A purveyor they say
Buying and selling
To those on his way

Bull rushes Elder growing
Everywhere
It’s branches grew hollow
The flautist can share
Whistle and pipes with you
And later still
The berries fully ripe
Juiced up at will

Great for winter colds
A conciliatory brew
That hastens to calm
The sore throat
It’s true
For colds and just having
An uncomfortable hour
Boiled and sipped slowly
It really has power

and the witches are back
With their herbs and their potions
all sorts of wild plants
They make their own lotions
Besoms are hanging
Just inside the door
And a spell binding group
Now sat on the floor