Blue bells and the rain

A fair old squall was blowing
Rain like scimitars
Slashing from an oatmeal sky
Causing wild flowers scars
With insufficient sun shine
The wild flowers seemingly
Hang their heads and cling together
Fundamentally
A wholeness, and a fullness
An all embracing sea
Of bluebells pealing out a tuneful
Ancient melody
Brimming with a saturation
Of colours from the sky
Offering up a tumult
A rough and tumble high
All Dragged tailed and jumbled
Windswept knocked about
Thrown into confusion
Be in little doubt
The bluebells magic vista
Assembled, their great sweep
Of distinctive blossoms
Our wandering eyes, so leap
Across the many areas, of boundlessness and bloom
The permanence of Nature
And The suddenness of gloom.