Wild Asters
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.
The old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.
An inventor is an engineer who doesn't take his education too seriously.
Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by someone I…