Poems  From Tuscarora
Thank God for Hollyhocks

“Thank God for hollyhocks,” the ranch wife

said as she stood by the side of her truck.

“They go untended, not like everything

else around here.”  She glanced at the house,

the barn, the cows in the field beyond.

“Some say hollyhocks are a poor excuse for a flower,

a large, coarse plant, like the plainest girl

at the dance.  But their colors are pure,

the sturdy stalks stand up to the wind,

the seeds easy to give to a friend.

What’s best is they are familiar,”

she sighed.  “When I see hollyhocks,

I know I’m home.”

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