These here are bluebells.
The fairies ring them at night.
I can hear them when there’s no wind.
And here’s daisies, of course.
They come up volunteer, and I let them be.
I like the peonies because they stay put.
Gram came down and planted them
after Mother married Daddy.
She wanted her to have something pretty.
They’ve been here longer than me,
and likely they’ll be here after I’m gone,
but who can say for sure?
Strange things happen.
Those black hollyhocks there,
no one ever planted them.
I keep digging them up
and back they come.
I think it’s Gram,
trying to tell me something,
but I can’t make out what.

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