He Loves Me Not
The flowers mean nothing to me
Nor never will they do.
I sit with my hands behind me
And listen to his coo.
It’s nothing but an empty highway
What he wants is not my love
The flowers droop with they’re sadness
Or maybe it’s the fright of his glove.
I do hold a grudge of fear
That wells somewhere within.
Though I know he’ll not come near
It is still his voice I hear.
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