Summer Luck

Picking four-leaf clovers in the summer.

A bed of moss green carpeted the outside room.
The sun,
the priceless lamp of the sky,
doused the earth with warm rays.
The clover carpet extended
their tiny, heart shaped hands
to embrace
the distant, golden, flashing sun
seated in its great azure throne
unblemished
by pale cotton clouds.
The cool moist clovers also pressed lightly,
hugging my bare skin
and I inhaled in deeply, slowly
the wet, clean, dirt smell
of earth, a scent so freshly familiar.
A gentle breeze
stirred the stems
of the fragile clovers to brush a whispering caress
upon my skin.
One even boldly bent
to steal a kiss from my lips.
The ticklish touch of a first kiss
brought forth a sudden hearty laugh.
Inspired, I raised the small bouquet
of four-leafed clovers,
pinched in my finger-tips,
to my laughing mouth,
and I kissed the summer fresh luck.