I laugh at four leaf clovers
Like the best of them
I'm a vine of many flowers and
fruits with blessed bends
But I still laugh at four leaf clovers
Despite their pesterin'
It's a weed
It's a weed for good luck
But it's taken root in my soil
and it's kind of fucked up
It's a weed for good luck
And we accept it as such
But I feel every third leaf
and the way it sucks up
Most of what I needed
All the other trees seem fine
They don't pollinate or cultivate the things others find
And a few weeded clovers seem fine
To a monolith of solitude that doesn't realize how a vine
decorates the limbs
drops fruit for the friends
attracts several other beneficial new trends
yet the vine that climbed and left flowers in time
is slowly dying
from four leaf clovers
from laughing at weeds
from light hearted meetings where they smoke other trees
It all seems fine
Till the corpse they find
Is the once tall vine
That had given them life
Now brown and blind
Let the best of them laugh
Covered in four leaf clovers