Dragoons, I tell you the white hydrangeas
     turn rust and go soon.
Already mid September a line of brown runs
     over them.
One sunset after another tracks the faces, the
     petals.
Waiting, they look over the fence for what
     way they go.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 1978 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 17. Hydrangeas
Volume: Chicago Poems
- Fogs and Fires
Year: Published/Written in 1916
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