Just Into Nice Xyrises

I finally found a four-leaved clover.

Identity as golden as the xyris flower.

Unskilfully, I inked your skin in blue.

And showed to you what I could do.

Someone's property that you found on the window sill.

But we were only looking for some time to kill.

You watched me in concentration with your earth-like eyes.

I sought your approval for my unsteady blue lines.

Your brows rose in suspicion as you examined my work.

But I caught your sly smile—more like a cheeky smirk.

"What is it?" you asked and I replied,

"I'm just into nice xyrises. Isn't it divine?"