There is meadow of clovers,
And if you look further in than one would care to walk,
There are two.
The first and the second converse,
Onwards they always talk,
Beyond understanding that could be true.

They talk of life and death and past,
And always they say as the sun sets,
We are two clovers, together beyond anything.
The rest of the clovers are silent, no ears,
These are different from the rest.
They can’t hear or talk or sing.

Nothing could part this pair,
They swore to always be there.
Day and night, dusk and dawn,
You would never hear them yawn,
As with promises they filled the starry air.

One day a human came along,
To the near center of the meadow.
And simply, plucks one of the two.
And now because of some higher force,
I’m a lonely clover among the full throes,
And I’ve been separated from you.