Peeping at the passers-by, beckoning to them,
Staring o'er at goldenrod, by the pasture bars,
Giving him a timid nod when he turns his stars.
Little purple aster waits till very late,
Till the flowers have faded from the garden gate;
Then, when all is dreary, see her buds unfurled,
Come to cheer a changeful and sombre autumn world.
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nice post
nice pic