End of Summer Clover
- Sunny J Shores
- Oct 6
- 1 min read
In fields where August whispers low
The grasses lean, the breezes slow.
Among the green, a secret hides
Four leaves where fortune still abides.
The summer sun begins to wane,
Its warmth a softer, gentler flame.
And in my palm, the clover lies,
A pocket wish beneath the skies.
Not for gold, nor fleeting fame,
But joy in simple things I claim.
A charm of earth, both small and true
End of summer, hope renewed.
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