The peonies always come back-
Doesn’t matter the political climate
or the season or drama of men
these peonies my Grandma planted
rise again and again.
Long gone is the house they lived in,
now the cars just pass it by,
overgrown the driveway with it
no one there to wave “hi”.
It doesn’t matter that no one waters them
for God sends just enough rain
and the spring sun makes its annual appearance
so that they know to rise again.
So much comfort comes from knowing
though I’m three hundred miles away
that the peonies come back in remembrance of Grandma
every Memorial Day.
