Clovers are meant to be

tokens of luck.

gambling on them

with your soul on the line.

how rare they are,

when they’ve got 4 leaves.

when they have all their parts,

nothing lost to grieve.

no rips or tears,

just simply perfect.

but most clovers

only have 3 parts.

they’re missing some pieces,

they’re flawed.

they’ve got scars

and scratches,

bruises

and cuts.

3 leafed clovers

are simply not made

for display.

they were born in soil

they were not made

to withstand.

they settle for the spot

far in the back,

pushed into the shade,

never seeing the light of day.

they try to fill the void

of their missing parts

with bugs,

who do greater harm

than good.

they use them,

abuse them,

until they are nothing more or less

than gone.

a clover, working so desperately

for a shot at its 15 minutes,

to be denied

again and again.

pathetic really, it never had a chance.

it has no structure,

no beauty.

it is just a weed, after all.

a nasty weed with no purpose

but to get walked on, crushed.

stupid clover,

soft and sweet.

always wishing

on stars and dandelions,

that it could obtain

the missing piece.

instead it wilts, rots.

no one needs a wilting clover.

no one wants a dying pest.

into the soil

it will retreat,

and become a breeding ground

for misfortune and deceit.

may luck be with you,

if you come across the path

of the dead little clover

missing more than just a half.