Mowing Season
May rains fed the clover
A carpet of white blossoms
fed the bees
When I was a child
I plucked the stems,
wove a chain about my neck,
made wishes on four leaves
Even then I realized
that beauty would fade
not all wishes come true
and everything living would pass
2 thoughts on "Mowing Season"
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I like the straightforwardness of this poem and the look/shape of the stanzas fit it well.
Beautiful rhythm. The turn of the poem, so impactful. What a wonderful poem!