Sad Girl

A plucked a petal from your garden long ago,

And realized it was from a garden filled with forget-me-nots.

He loves me, he loves me not.

That was when we were friends, happy, even euphoric.

I was glad to think I’d never be forgotten

And even kept the dried thing in a jar on my table.

I watched the blue thing turn purple,

And then to ash–

Into a pile of tiny petals:

He loves me, he loves me not.

Before long,

Your garden dried out, and your daisies died.

Even from a bouquet of forget-me-nots

It seems he will never forget me,

But he loves me not.