The deer munch on that cool, dewy snack
Of hostas;
As if I placed them just for their early morning stroll.

The roots
Of the dead ferns
Are withered and twisted;
Appearing to have toiled the long years required
Of this once-tobacco-farm. 

The blooms
Of the twelve-year-old hydrangea
Have appeared for only the second time 
in all those summers.  
The eight-foot azalea
Residing beside it has stolen all the nutrients,
Like an aggressive twin.

The seventy-year old peonie
Blooms on cue as if she were
Still a teen,
In search of a worthy suitor.  

The same love and care
Are given to all.
Some thrive.
Some do not.

Still the hummingbirds
with the vigor of youth
On their beating wings,
Return thirsty.