The blue hydrangea
heavy in weight
dripped down the incline,
old cobblestone steps now moss covered,
forgotten by years of neglect and storm.
Planted years before by loving hands
delicately covering its roots in between
vespers and rest.
No one remembered when the blue bush
took hold of that corner of the garden,
pillowy drape wild in charm.
It grew not far from a rusty gate now loosely
leaning from rotted cedar posts.
The heaviness of the blooms rushed past 
the gate, a surging river, a tired memory
trying to gather the details of her life.
The blueness of the flowers deep in thought
wrapped around her, a long lost lover.
The scent spilled floral magic from
the hands of the aged sacristan.