One white rose,
I held in my hand.
One petal falls
he Loves me for sure!
But out of chance,
another fell too.
Thorns begin to set in,
pure white
to blood red.
He must love me not.
Petals failing to hang on
to vine to which their bound.
Does he love?
Or, does he not?
Perplexed,
as the last petal falls.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment