my daisies are dead,
the
happy flower
in the spotted bowl
has gone
(and)
all the things i thought
were good for me
are not.
i find it difficult to believe
in
life
when all the pretty petals
keep falling
(lonesome)
to the floor, and as i pluck them
off,
i repeat my vows:
he
loves me. he loves
me not...
No comments:
Post a Comment