Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: T R Bates

All summer long I’ve been waiting
For the asters to bloom again.
I don’t know exactly why,
Maybe because they are
The last field flowers of the year,
The last flowers Barbara and I saw together
Along with all the visiting bees and butterflies
Basking in the bright warm autumnal sunshine
Until the cold north winds shooed them away.
The ghostly dried flower heads and leaves
Were still present when Barbara
Passed in mid November.
Now today,
In early September,
I see my first periwinkle blue
Aster of this year and later a bouquet
Of white asters growing over the very spot
I was hoping for—right where I had scattered
Her ashes nine months ago, just before the
Snow came and covered everything
Up for the long sleep of winter.
She is still helping to make
The world beautiful.


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