I've been thinking for a while
About schoolyards full of clover
And the man who comes to mow it
Every Thursday afternoon.
He knows that, once he's done it,
He'll have to do it over;
He'll have to mow it down again,
And do it soon.
But the clover doesn't know it
The clover only blossoms
All it knows to do
Is what nature had in mind.
It only knows to flower
No matter what besets it
And hope that it is easy
For willing bees to find.
Drew, this is not your poem. Read and follow directions carefully. Do your own work.
ReplyDeleteHaha Drew.... do your work mijo! good post... at least you tried:P
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