Struck by Luck

"The only sure thing about luck
is that it will change."

Bret Harte
(1836 - 1902)

We galloped 'cross the countryside,
The perfect afternoon trail ride.
Beside a creek, we paused to rest
And lounged awhile in grassy nest.

Our horsey posse was content;
To sit a spell was our intent.
We sighed to see a day so fair,
Empowered by fresh country air.

The horses drank and gaily grazed,
As on the shore, we simply lazed.
We picked up clovers, just for fun,
And plucked the leaves off, one by one.

"He loves me, yes; he loves me not,"
Provided our best food for thought,
Until I found a four-leaf clover,
There beside our ride layover.

Suddenly, like chimpanzees,
We all were on our hands and knees,
A-hunting through the wild field
To find another lucky yield.

To our surprise, the land was filled
With four-leaf clovers, yet untilled.
What caused this region to enchant,
Just downstream from the power plant?