Wild Asters
Wild Asters by Sara Teasdale In the spring I asked the daisies If his words were true, And the clever, clear-eyed daisies Always knew. Now the fields are brown and barren, Bitter autumn blows, And of all the stupid asters Not one knows I allow the wild asters to grow rampantly in my garden. They…

I am equal parts verbal and visual. As a writer, I write to discover what I think and what I want to release.





