The laneway smells of sweet clover
Overrun by long timothy
That soaks toes in morning’s walk
Back and forth we go.
Dampness holds its structure
Amidst low hanging overcast clouds
That have lifted only slightly
Since twilight broke them off.
Calmness awaits
Imagination creeps in
Day’s plans unfold
Tracks on the road.
I don’t walk with a swagger
I’m not a callused hand
I don’t wish for stars
Or four leaf clovers
I sing with a guitar that holds a tune
But my voice is held under water
In a rusty tin can
So I sleep in a cold corner
With a sore back on my side
I run out of gas
When I’m driving too fast
And my knives all go blunt
So my pencils aren’t sharp
But I’m still trying hard
To grow something again
When out walking amidst trees today
I found a broken path
That led me around a big ol’ fir
Three houndred years or more
I scrambled over wild roses
And a patch of red clover
To find myself face to face
With bark of an ancient race
Here I stood wondering about
All the years that have gone past
What have I touched
What have I called
Who have I known before
To which I instantly knew more
That deep inside my soul
The answer lay awaiting me
For not was I of anything
Held back was I to guilt
But for a speed at which I flew
That kept my needles dry
So each and every day I knew
I’d be challenged by the race
And my greatest test
Of each my time
Lay finding just one slow breath.
Afternoon, Clover
Bring me Yellow, forever
In tunes leftover
Imagining another
Toes dipped into
Running water
Reflection’s gone
On muddy shores
Of afternoon, Clover.