In the spring I sow clover
In the garden, with my lover.
Our own small thing: our yard,
A sky starred with clover.
We lie, serene, unguarded,
Each in the other fully known.
In the summer my lover mows
A row through the clover
On which to stroll—
A road through the green.
The air is rich with ruined clover,
And other things, unseen and unknown.
It is autumn, and the clover
Has overgrown the garden,
Reclaimed the yard.
Now the moan of the mower
And the blower sowing hard sound
Cuts me down, runs me over.
Winter has blown in since I found
That I knew her, all along,
That I’d met her, and I’d loved her,
And I’d let her stroll down that road
Through the newly-mown clover
Hand in hand [unseen! unknown!]
With my lover.