He
Loves me?
Loves me not?
Rose petals cry
then laugh painfully.
What a way to decide!
Lover's fate rests in plucking
the petals, counting one by one
as one shuns to disclose intentions
matters of heart no game of pretentions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a good Etheree. Reminds me of a childhood game. we played with clovers.