Clover Leaves Forest Moss Nature  - KRiemer / Pixabay


I have been thinking

about lifting

like the three-lobed leaves

of the potted shamrock 

on my counter.


They rise and fall

with the cycle of the sun.

When I first realized 

this is what they were doing,

I was awestruck.


If I were a shamrock,

I would spend the entire night

longing for the flow of energy

up my stems

that would fling my leaves aloft.


What I mean is,

can I count on hope

to always be there?

We trust the sun to rise,

even when a storm darkens the horizon.


The fire of it burns

regardless of our ability

to see it behind the clouds.

We may not feel its warmth,

but we know it’s there.


Spider-web delicate roots

drink hope from the soil

and by an invisible sun’s power,

shuttle it through trusting stems.

I raise my hands.


The sky opens,

raining hope.


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