-This poem reflects on clover as a humble and abundant sign of early summer, where small blossoms quietly fill the yard with life and usefulness.
Between the grass and open ground,
the clover lifts its little stars,
small white blooms in quiet spread,
soft as breath across the green.
No single blossom claims the eye,
yet all together shape the field,
a humble brightness underfoot,
the kind the day is built upon.
Bees arrive and bend the stems,
the air grows warm above their work,
and every patch of common earth,
becomes a place of living use.
So much of summer gathers low,
close to the hand, close to the knee,
where what is simple keeps its grace,
and abundance begins in smallness.