Clover Poem by Iam notThou

Clover on the ground is shot for our guns
Battlefields poisoned with the tears of our son
Showers of Spring mask the mixing of blood-

Pollen spills and spins on the sunset's brim
The smells heavy enough to eradicate whims
And I can't purge this damn stain from my glove-

Now population control is rolling over the hill
And I'm not one to just kill for the thrill
But something, something has got to be done-