How many petals, did fall upon
The unforgiving floor?
To lie, in waste, and watch, as from
The sky came many more.
They represent, in springtime hues,
The Love that's never said.
Their patrons only see the blooms
As futures to be read.
They slowly rip from Nature's bones
Her brightly coloured clothes,
And pull apart her spreading buds,
For what they might propose.
The question, "does he love me now,
Or does he love me not?"
Is asked as petals slowly fall,
and in the darkness, rot.