Charlotte Clyve

Clover
Charlotte Clyve

It’s not rare, being ordinary,

fields of clovers swaying 

in the breeze.

But what is:

to be noticed.

Your color ablaze, you flourish in daylight,

jammed next to companions of your own kind,

competing for validation.

But only one of you is remarkable.

Only one

unique enough to be picked from the patch,

an adorable present to a loved one,

or put a smile on someone's face.

How do you allow mankind to plod all over you?

Crushing your delicate little leaves, knowing

that you, along with many,

will never get picked.

Never put a smile on someone's face.

Never an extraordinary token.

How do you live being ordinary

and nothing remarkable.

And can you teach me?

Author's Note: Something I love about poetry is the freedom you have to explore different words and the way it kind of doesn't have to make perfect sense. There is room to interpret things which is something I really enjoy. Finding the best words and putting them together is so fun and the final product is always so satisfying to read.