The Gentian

In Teesdale, above High Force,
Where snow lies late,
Before they tamed the valley
With a reservoir, spring gentians
Used to grow, native to the Alps
But finding here a mini–arctic.

We went in search one Easter.
But nobody would tell us where to look.
Wandering the fields at random
We came upon one gentian, all alone
In a green wilderness of grass.

Five–pointed like a star,
A purer blue than any flower seen,
A deeper blue than any jewel known
Yet like a jewel it shone
Out of the greenness.

We went down on our knees
To see the markings closer,
And felt like magi come from far off lands
To worship this blue wonder.