Gordon Nye


My 4-Leaf Clover - Poem by Gordon Nye

An endless sidewalk,
A city street.
The only ride,
Are tired feet.

I know the path,
This road is rough.
But my resolve,
Is very tough.

As I walk each block,
The crowd will thin.
And then the trials,
They will begin.

A little later,
I face a test.
From here on out,
I cannot rest.

Left or right,
I don't know which.
I search my heart,
And then I twitch.

I hear a voice,
So calming sweet.
Just look ahead,
You won't be beat.

I heed the words,
And lift my eyes.
A beam of light,
That calms the cries.

Suddenly clear,
I see my goal.
My life ahead,
And I'll be whole.

As I walk the road,
It turns to green.
I take a breath,
The air is clean.

I see a meadow,
It's brightly lit.
This is a sign,
I won't forget.

The beam of light,
Has hit it's mark.
And cleared away,
All that's dark.

As I approach,
I see a shine.
One of these,
Is surely mine.

A field of clover,
My skin turned hot.
Leaves of 4.
I had to spot.

Fighting fear,
My face was flush.
There was no way,
That I could rush.

The voice return,
Said find her here.
And when you do,
You'll shed a tear.

For you will know,
That she's your fate.
Her love for you,
Will not abate.

The road you've traveled,
The win-less game.
Will all be worth it,
When you hear her name.

So walk the line,
Fear not defeat.
The closest fruit,
Is rarely sweet.

The voice is gone,
It's time to move.
For my new life,
It will improve.

I walk the field,
Looking high and low.
My leaves of 4,
Are gonna show.

I hit my knees,
And changed my view.
The only way,
That I'd find you.

With gentle hands,
I moved the leaves.
So I wouldn't damage,
What was meant for me.

For leaves of 4,
They are so rare.
They only require,
Your special care.

Their roots are strong,
But they will surrender.
When they're pulled,
You must be tender.

Then I see it,
What the journey's about.
The voice was right,
I have no doubt.

I took the clover,
In my hand.
Now mine forever,
I understand.

The road I walked,
It was my life.
Cluttered an loud,
And full of strive.

But in the meadow,
I was truly me.
To be the man,
I was meant to be.

The clover was,
My special mate.
Who owned my heart,
Who was my fate.

Topic(s) of this poem: love and life


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, June 25, 2017



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