Clover

This memory is old, faded, but there,

In the back of my mind, always with me.

It was warm, with a sweet smell in the air;

The sky was perfectly blue and sunny.

We stood in a clover patch, dad and I,

Which grew next to our house for one summer.

Little flowers grew up toward the sky,

And they smelled of fresh honey and butter.

Evergreens grow there now, branches entwined;

Planted soon after that day, they’ve grown tall.

And though I love the sturdy, shady pines,

I sometimes miss the white and purple sprawl.

We walked among the untidy flowers,

Happy to bask in those summer hours.