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.