Culture

February 14 2013
5

'Rose Petals.' photo (c) 2007, Photo4jenifer - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/

She picks a flower from the ground,
begins the same old game.

Plucks a petal, thinks of her best lover:
He loves me.

Next petal plucked, and a question occurs:
He loves me not.

Third petal now and she holds it like hope:
He loves me.

But there’s reason to doubt ’cause she sees her own heart:
He loves me not.

She tries to remember the things that she knows:
He loves me.

It’s no longer a game and she fears the result:
He loves me not.

His stories she’s heard, they promise her good:
He loves me.

But the truth that she sees is she can’t measure up:
He loves me not.

The petals are spent and so is her heart;
she drops the bare stem to the dirt.

But growing beside it,
A perfect new flower.

She plucks a petal, thinks of her best lover:
He loves me.


5 comments

  1. It’s good to know that there’s always a fresh flower waiting.

    Love you, dearest.

    Reply
  2. Love this. Love you.

    Reply
  3. Sarah H.

    Beautiful.

    Reply
  4. For some reason, I thought of the love story of Hosea and Gomer. She moves back and forth, always wavering, never quite sure of if Hosea really loves her. And when her heart is at it’s lowest, when she’s ran away, there he is again. Anew.

    Reply

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