Lilac

In the quiet corner of an English garden,
Lilac buds unfurl their soft‑purple sighs,
Their fragrant tresses draping over stone,
A perfume that drifts on evening breezes.

Each cluster hangs like a delicate chandelier,
Tiny trumpets calling bees to linger,
While shadows play beneath the waning light,
And twilight drapes the blooms in violet hush.

We remember childhood afternoons,
When lilac sprigs were tucked behind ears,
Their scent a memory of summer’s promise,
A sweet, enduring whisper of home.

So let the lilac stand, steadfast and sweet,
A British bloom that colours heart and hue,
Its fragrance a gentle reminder—
Beauty lingers long after the petals fall.