The four-leafed clovers don't grow anymore
Where years ago I found one every day.
Perhaps now too much sunshine, too much rain
Has made them far too arrogant or vain
For passing has-been fools who search them still
Again the over-turning hopeless search;
A bit of luck might do a dark heart good
Upon this spot of land where smiles stood.
Now daily found unlucky yet and lacking;
The hard-won hope each morning soon is crushed--
Unable to decide, and stresses stacking,
The four-leaf clover hunts are far too rushed.
(c) Kathryn W. Ritter
February 16, 2012
*All images courtesy of MorgueFile*