My Grandfathers HydrangeasA Poem by NevilleBecause it feels like spring .. or prolet as we used to say in Bulgaria 🤍My Grandfathers Hydrangeas I have no doubt whatsoever if prizes were awarded, for the bluest of blues in any garden, anywhere
at all .. Then gold would almost certainly go to my grandfather’s hydrangeas, the trick is, he said, each year without fail they need to be fired up, until full of ferrous iron filings and then, in March, cut back, with a decent pair of old secateurs
just a thumb above a new bud .. © 2026 NevilleFeatured Review
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1 Review Added on March 17, 2026 Last Updated on March 17, 2026 |

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