By Edgar Guest
Old-fashioned flowers! I love them all:
The morning-glories on the wall ...
The pansies in their patch of shade ...
The violets, stolen from a glade ...
The bleeding hearts and columbine ...
Have long been garden friends of mine;
But memory every summer flocks
About a clump of hollyhocks.
The mother loved them years ago;
Beside the fence they used to grow,
And though the garden changed each year
And certain blooms would disappear
To give their places in the ground
To something new that mother found,
Some pretty bloom or rosebush rare ...
The hollyhocks were always there.
It seems but yesterday to me
She led me down the yard to see,
The first tall spires, with bloom aflame,
And taught me to pronounce their name.
And year by year I watched them grow,
The first flowers I had come to know.
And with the mother dear I'd yearn
To see the hollyhocks return.
The garden of my boyhood days
With hollyhocks was kept ablaze ...
In all my recollections they
In friendly columns nod and sway;
And when today their blooms I see,
Always the mother smiles at me ...
The mind's bright chambers, life unlocks
Each summer with the hollyhocks.
I captured the pictures of the Hollyhocks at my parents' house this past weekend, and love Mr. Guest's poem about them. The seeds were given to me years ago by a sweet lady in Marshall, Texas, and I passed them on to my mother. I love seeing these old-fashioned blooms, and always remember the kindness of the lady in Texas, who shared her beautiful flowers with us.