Farewell hydrangeas

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.

The hydrangeas in the pots outside the workshop aren’t white, but they are turning to rust just like the ones in Carl Sandburg’s poem. We have also caught them looking over the fence for what way to go.