A Hopeless Case

Her sisters shunned her, half in fear And half in pity. “’Tis too bad She is not made as we--poor dear!” (Four leaves instead of Three she had.)

Said Doctor Bee: “Her case is rare And due to Influence prenatal. To amputate I would not dare, The operation might be fatal.

“With Rest and Care and Simple Food She may outlive both you and me; A change of scene might do her good.” (One bag of Honey was his fee.)

* * * * *

“Take me! take me!” the clovers cry, To a maid bending wistful-eyed. With gentle hand she puts them by, Till all but one are passed aside.

Before her sisters’ wondering eyes Her leaves with kisses are told over. “At last! at last!” the maiden cries, “I’ve found you, little four-leaved clover.”