White asters in September,
ragged and wild
sprawling with the vigor
of an unregarded child.
Decorum disregarded,
regulations unknown;
boundaries irrelevant,
homelessness their home.
white asters line the highways
and caper through the fields;
invade our careful gardens
where they are labeled weeds.
But every eager honey bee
and many a butterfly
seek out their tousled petals
and the sweetness they provide.
September is a blessing,
in so many ways a gift.
White asters in their plenitude
give every soul a lift.
Deborah Barchi has been writing and publishing poems for more than twenty years. Many of her poems take their shape and substance from her love of the natural world.
