My mother was better at one thing,
Than anyone I know;
She did this with the greatest of ease,
Everywhere, she would go.
As she walked along in the grass,
I would see her bending down;
And with a smile on her face,
Pick something from the ground.
There in her fingers,
Mother held her prize;
It would be a fourleaf clover,
Much to my surprise.
So I in my youth, started my pursuit,
And searched, all the ground over;
And wouldn't you know, it was always so,
Not to be found the prized clover.
© by Paul H. Leaman
This writing may be used in its entirety, with credits in tact,
for non-profit ministering purposes.
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