Does a four leaf clover,
Know its own Beauty,
In the Spring of midnights,
A gypsy sways,
Like a Ballerina butterfly,
From flower to flower,
Upon the passionate winds,
of her Romance,
And my love is the garden,
Of all her loves,
Someone talented as Matisse,
And Nice and sweet as riviera waves,
For me and her,
And the sun and the moon,
Paint her a grass field,
of four leaf clovers,
Golden with stars,
Sultry
