A four-leaf clover could be growing in a field.
I’d never stoop to pluck in case delusion was revealed.
I’d daisy-chain caprice or blend a whimsy potpourri,
imagining it grew that way for me.
A fresh love poem could be flashing through the sea.
I’d not use line or net because it’s perfect swimming free,
but I could chase red herring through translucent truthful blue,
pretending it was made for me by you.
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Comments about this poem (Make-believe by Diane Hine )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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