Bending over a field of clover
Counting petals over and over
Searching for his four leafed luck
Into a buttonhole he might tuck
I present the incurable optimist
The wisher of fate innocuous
Bearer of all good tidings and glad
Looking for hope as if he were mad
It matters not if he finds the thing
I am certain he’ll go on searching
It’s in the way of the optimist
Not to give up before success
Still he gives all the credit to luck
But now in the field he’s been stuck
For the better part of half an hour
Counting clovers and picking flowers
No comments:
Post a Comment