CLOVERS.OWN

Look at the clovers, greens and browns

Full of life, rooted to the ground

In my own garden, I make no sound

But a waterfall flows, carrying away my crown.

I’m a fallen king, a destitute queen

Washed away are the waters of my dream

A clovers’ own pauper, pockets clean

Of nothing but a labrinth, so green.

Shamrocks lift the spirit, high

Luck, it seems, is on my side

My soul is rare, and by the by

Her four leaf clover, so soon arrived.

Rich with dirt, blessed with health

Her magic puts gold on her shelf

Trees and plants and forest wealth

Never wanting, her cards are dealt.

His moss green eyes match hers, so grey

Jesters dance, below the bay

A celebratory toast, today

Takes every doubt and sadness ‘way.

Plant the clovers’ own, with care

She, so seemingly unaware

Has found her crown, placed upon her hair

Her king beside her, green diamonds shared.

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Hold on to the present. Let go of the past. Reach your hand out to the future. PUNKTUATED.blog features my original poetry, mental health advocacy, and deep thoughts. Thanks for following and reading!

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