Wild Asters
Sara Teasdale
In the spring I asked the daisies If his words were true, And the clever little daisies Always knew. Now the fields are brown and barren, Bitter autumn blows, And of all the stupid asters Not one knows.
In the spring I asked the daisies If his words were true, And the clever little daisies Always knew. Now the fields are brown and barren, Bitter autumn blows, And of all the stupid asters Not one knows.