There must be a sermon in clover. Interlocking roots proselytizing grass and garden, Sheltering the lowest- spiders and earthworms, Within the sweetness of ordinary time. Evangelistic in children's bouquets- Converting hard hearts with tiny flowers Squeezed with dandelions in small hands. The undulating blanket crusades a landscape Bringing singular trinitarian understanding with Fear and adoration. Consumed as solid and liquid, both cud and tea There is no negative theology in clover- No understanding through absentia. Lucky is not the same as necessary.