Clovers by the hanging line

 I've searched the patches for a srike of luck,

the days go on and on in wonder could there be a four leaf hiding ,

the day was light and now subsiding

The gentle glow of the moon is due, and darkness comes with subtle hue,

again tomorrow when in rise the sun beams down upon the prize

And when I find it press like flowers, cherished more the given hours,

to seek and find that clover there, fresh like morning standing bare.