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.