Clover

lift your head, little clover–

don’t you know the wind has gone?

its looming fingers can’t reach over

my palms cupped closer around. hold on

 

to what has always been so near.

resist! endure! your wind-whipped head

circles only imagined fear;

you’ve tried to lead, but look,

look, look, look,

look.

 

it’s time to be led

home.

 

we’re going to make it home.

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