There’ll be no solemn song
No “Hey, you hero of mine!”
Wind beneath their wings you were
Relegate of eagle shadow
Beautiful, smile…hide your pain
Fore-and-aft, you’ll flutter about
Oh, love! How you’ll luff
Teardrop-shaped, yet foil-less
All this windy day is wind
The ocean of you, they showboat atop
Once the hydrangeas have decided, there is no turning back. They bloom just for you. Intentionally. Enough sweltering days strung one-after-another makes them crazy enough to believe.
And delusional. They let you walk ever-so-near. They don’t see you’ve a gardener’s shears behind your back. And your intention…to display them on your basement table.