Clover Field

Nothing's more sweet than a red clover field
Caressed by the wind and kissed by the rain;
Redolent with dreams, here rich honey yield
Is garnered by bees where sunshine has lain.
Red clover nodding and white clover swayed
By plush bumblebees, zigzagging on wings
Like gossamer rainbows, through the bloom wade;
For deep in the clover the summertime sings.
In the green meadows that sway in a dance
To musical strains from ribbon-flung streams
Lies the fresh clover; its scent can entrance
With visions of beauty from tiptoeing dreams.
Over green clover the summer breeze cleaves
To lucid gold air where butterflies shine;
Magical alchemy, its subtle spell weaves
Tranquil content into patterns benign.
Breathe the rare fragrance; its essence unfolds
Within the heart's archives, always to keep.
Touch plush rose blossoms, their rapture behold
When they have vanished in long, silent sleep.
Freshened by night dew, the clover field glows
With words unspoken and poetry unsung;
But here something whispers, that the soul knows,
And lingers forever, where clover has sprung.

~ Ruth B. Field