Amid lawns of tough bermuda grass
Clumps of clover sprouted like oases in the dessert,
So cool and verdant you might think
They had burrowed down to an underground
Spring with those long runners of root systems.
We would belly-flop down onto a deep green sea
Of shamrock and lay there, spending long trance-like spells
In summer's afternoon heat
Hunting for a four-leaf among the trefoils.
These cool lush patches we children took as blessings --
A sign the angels had come by --
As much as the goatheads and devil's claws
Growing on the verge of the yard
Meant curses dropped by vagrant demons.
I could not wrap my mind around
That either of those ugly gnarled husks --
Looking like skulls, with horns no less --
Were really seed pods, a source of the life-force.
Their mother-weeds we pulled up by the roots
While chanting ugly words over them
To discourage their return.
But swards of clover we saved,
Mowing around those lovely mishaps,
Unwilling to shear a single bud
Or shoot from the tangled mat,
While sharing the bounty with butterflies.
Written June 2009, revised October 2011
A magical write Lillian with some delicious alliterative lines. I just love your poetic take on nature; so utterly, beautifully engaging.