-This poem reflects on goldenrod as one of late summer’s quiet companions, flourishing in overlooked places and reminding us that beauty often arrives without seeking recognition.
Along the roadside, bright and still,
the goldenrod lifts into bloom,
not seeking notice from the fields,
yet filling all the ditches with light.
Its yellow catches morning first,
then carries noon without complaint,
standing where the gravel ends,
and summer lingers one more while.
No orchard claims these humble stems,
no careful rows have brought them here,
they bloom because the season asks,
nothing more, and nothing less.
So much of late summer is found,
not in the grand, but in the faithful,
the roadside bright with quiet gold,
the ordinary becoming enough.