Clover of Four

(for my mother who would have turned 85 today)

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Betwixt the primal automn air
I stroll along on worn out fields; I look for her in glowing leaves
that tumble to content despair

I never knew how she could spy
a fourleaved clover in the grass; but when she left to join the clouds
her mistery fell on bristly rye

I try to pierce the muddled mist
and call upon creation to keep the promise that she’d made
to find me in a secret tryst

It seems a search to no avail
I hunt, inspect and comb the green; perhaps there is no greater scheme
she left to leave nor sign or trail

But there’s a pause, a halt in time
a gust of everafter scent; and there before my watery eyes
clovers of four and five sublime.

A spark in the Rainbow

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Had longed to hear the colour’s song
had searched for substance in the light
had called the stars for comfort’s sight

but none so far had given way
so my heart’s howls would all allay.

Was tensed with worries of the bolt
was lost for darkness in my steps
was pained for gloom in all respects

but none so far had reached its aim
that this and all was not in vain.

Had borne the thoughts like cracks of dusk
had carried stones in head and soul
had dragged these bones as piles of coal

but none so far had come to ease
the fear of that futility’s breeze.

But when I turned my glance outside
and there, it was – undoubtedly bright

A rainbow touchdown in my yard.

(…no answers yet, if just a spark)