//------------------------------//
// The Field of Clovers 
// Story: The Field of Clovers 
// by That One Strange Fellow 
//------------------------------//

Within a grand field, a mare did once yield. She knelt to the ground, a weed most peculiar felt. A clover unremarkable her eyes did glaze over. A single leaf, split asunder, was this clover in grief of some sort of blunder? Her hooves drew her outward bound to a patch of barren ground. The forest was near, a single stone cracked clear.

Her trail took her far, a special tale waiting under the star. Her trek encountered a home, a wreck of a place did her hooves roam. Upon the wall laid a scrawl: ‘Beware the lavender mark! For the tomb only brings doom!’ A peculiar spark, for it behooves one to see written, yet the key has yet to be fit in. Did she follow the arrow, finding a path long and narrow. Her great stride took her beyond, to a village on one side.

‘What a merry bond a pony could hold!’ For at the center was a fruit tree, bright and bold. As all ponies did scurry, did cheer fill the air, with worry neither here nor there. At the corner of her eye did she spy a mark of violet, alone on an islet. To this valley she went, balking at the scent. Upon opening this crate, did the message seem to be fate. For within was a pest, squirm in their fest, yet she would be there to cleanse their ferm.

Out did she travel, calling to those along the gravel. ‘A great plague festers within the craig! Come to the lavender hue! Help your fellow few!’

Many did gather to pull out the spoil to slather in a slick oil. With a spark did it ignite, putting an end to a near plight. ‘Thank you kindly, clever stranger, but how did you learn of this danger?’

‘In a field not far from home did I roam, a broken clover did I check over.’

‘Praise to you, Clover the Clever! May your path stay true and hooves take you wherever! For you are our kin! Please, do join us in celebration, for without your narration we would never begin!’

‘It is of no concern, the forests and fields I yearn.’

Begone was the one of cheer, passing through the woods she held dear. Further beyond did her move take her until a groove in the soil made her roil. To a field of clovers did she go, her pace careful and slow.

Clover the Clever at once tumbled over. In the haste did she find herself cased. Within nothing but stone, she laughed at what she had sown, a journey married to the known. Her body never found buried deep beneath the ground, within a long forgotten mound. Yet, it is said she will return, to once more learn and discern. That in due time, she would hear this rhyme and respond to the chime.

As the hunt is her treasure, Clover the Clever was never one to rest forever.