I knew that it was a bit of Heaven
when it grabbed my breath
and tore out tears.
Waves of golden yellow,
of creamy white,
of orange and red bells
in white capes blanketed the gentle roll
of the hill.
Flowers of Spring as far
as the eye could see.
Boxed by paths full
of flat landers struck dumb
by the flowered counterpane .
A walk through the front entrance
as clean a cut from sound
as the door of the funeral church.
So silent an awe
only the camera clicks
and the peacocks call
punctuate the afternoon scene.
Children run along the path
as silent as the butterfly's
gliding flight.
Sleepy sheep graze and gaze
in the pastoral scene
suited for chapel ceilings.
Questions and beauty's praise
are whispered in the daffodils ear.
If this is Heaven's quilt,
are the 450,000 blooms
the gentle souls
of children who have run over such a hill
and now return to celebrate
the blue sky and warm sun
of this Spring day?