Loves me not?
The pile of petals grows
But I have to be sure
Wind stirs dust
Nothing will grow again
From that spot
where I found my flower
and pulled the petals
while counting. Everything
only a hope in the petals
The colour fades
while I stood still.
Notes on this poem: I spent very little time on this one. I tried to bring across the idea of that old thingy people did where they pulled the petals off a flower and counted off "she loves me, loves me not, etc" and how you shouldn't waste time on something that really won't make a difference and probably isn't true. Something like that, I think you get what I mean though. It's good advice, I should take it myself but I'm stupid.