HOLLYHOCKS

Hollyhocks and morning glories,
their colorful sight tells the stories.
Tales of carefree, youthful days,
and hints of fun-loving ways.
When I was a lad, blonde and tan,
eons away from being a man,
rain-soaked earth, new mown hay,
their scents just wafted in this way.
Carried on that breeze so fresh,
memories which return and mesh,
thoughts of days now long past,
when a boy’s shadow I still cast.

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