He loves me, he loves me not,
sometimes love is best forgot.
Pick each petal, take a chance,
No more petals, no romance.

Roses have their thorns of pain,
lightning strikes in softest rain.
Everything has good and bad,
love is happy, love is sad.

Last petal tells what will be,
loves me not, does not love me.
Just the stem stands threadbare,
like his love no longer there.

Such a beauty picked apart,
to find no love in his heart.
One by one each petal falls,
my eyes weep as sorrow calls.

Fields of daisies fill the leas,
petals scatter in the breeze.
Realization confronts me,
more tears ahead I foresee.