A four-leaf clover could be growing in a field.
I’d never stoop to pluck in case delusion was revealed.
I’d daisy-chain caprice or blend a whimsy potpourri,
imagining it grew that way for me.
A fresh love poem could be flashing through the sea.
I’d not use line or net because it’s perfect swimming free,
but I could chase red herring through translucent truthful blue,
pretending it was made for me by you.
Diane Hine's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Make-believe by Diane Hine )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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