He loves me,
He loves me not,
Why is it that we pick a flower to decide if he really loves us?
Its just probability,
Flowers,
Why do they get to choose our fate with someone,
They are undecided,
Until the Wind or Rambuncious fingers come and pull their petals away,
Now they are worthless,
As worthless as Plucking petals to decide our Choices,
The Undecided Flower.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem