She loves me, she
Loves me not,
Petal by plucked petal.
She loves me,
She loves me not,
Idly drifting, unmettled,
Into the blue as forget-me-not.
Petals idly scenting
The frost-shattered and
Febrile earth,
Crushed and lying,
Bruised and torn,
Somewhat… dissipated.
For what is a flowerless
Flower but naked
In the cowl of winter’s bitter
Tears?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem