By June, green clover grew
from ankle to knee from foot
to render blend with barnsides white
stark deeproot bright
over distant dark,
woodlot oak
apressing sky’s
coming storm
of nightlike clouds among swaying wave of winded dance the leafy ground unsung til sudden rain pounds all around
fields reveal
blanket underside
of raw chartreuse the bending skinny stems of rootlessness that vacant forlorn pride of martyr helplessness, the fate of all crops of storms’ relentless gusts reborn to foretell of death unshorn beneath the battered someday coming summer sun!

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