When hollyhocks whisper amongst themselves,
What is it that they say?
What is it that they say?
Do they discuss the unfurling of a Blue Ribbon rose...
Or the Irish Cream's new bloom for the day?
Do they talk of the mums warm autumn tones
growing small and demure at their feet?
growing small and demure at their feet?
Are they chatting of ripening strawberries,
blushing red in the summer's heat?
blushing red in the summer's heat?
Or do they whisper of hollyhock things--
Things that I just don't see?
How I wish I could speak "hollyhock"
So the hollyhocks would whisper to me.
Things that I just don't see?
How I wish I could speak "hollyhock"
So the hollyhocks would whisper to me.
Original poem by Cindy IversonAll rights reserved.
May not be used or reproduced without written consent of author.
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