Consider the lilies of the field,
\nhow they grow
\nbeyond their flowering, no longer
\nbeautiful to our eyes. Consider
\nthe brittle-petalled, black
\ncenters of the black-eyed Susans,
\nwaving like pom-poms
\nin the cold wind. There’s a joy in it,
\nthe joy of everything
\nthat dances around it,
\nthe milkweeds dangling their old,
\ngoose-bumpy pods,
\nthe Queen Anne’s Lace
\nlifting the lacy purses
\nthey have woven
\nfrom their blossoms. How could we
\nhave overlooked the beauty
\nof the tiny, bristled stars
\nthey now carry, or the hope,
\namong the brown clovers,
\nof the late bloomers, already living
\nthe dream of their return?
\nConsider the dream
\nof the bloomers and of the wind-
\ntorn blackberry bushes
\nholding out their stick fingers
\nthat the birds have picked
\nclean. Consider the frosted heads
\nof the goldenrods
\nbending down to the ground,
\nand the milkweeds standing
\nstraight up, giving themselves away.\n
Hear Wes McNair read this poem.<\/p> <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n