Literature
He Loves Me Not
A rose sat on the table,
He promised it would never die,
And when it was worn and withered,
I did not cry.
It's not what I expected,
I knew the rose would not grow,
Into a lumbering, majestic tree,
That in the wind would flow.
The petals fell, one by one,
Browned under the burning sun,
Scattered across the table and chairs,
Worn and withered without a care.
And when the rose finally snapped,
I let out a deep sigh,
The weight of the world,
Broke its' neck,
But I did not cry.
I already knew what to think,
When I saw your face,
But I learned how not to speak,
When it wasn't my time or place.
I played your little game,
And w