Hollyhocks

Hollyhocks 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.