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Chance

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He loves me, loves me not
Plucking petals by the clot
A sacrifice of beauty
To heart’s inquiring duty
Every other
Decides; friend or lover
So it goes this game
Outcome but the same
The names will change
Faces will range
Last petal love
A little glass dove
Hope fabricated on
Chance, only on loan
Loves me not
Question why I sought
A resolution
In nature’s solution
Never know for sure
Petals soft and pure
Crumple, curl and die
Each fortune a lie
To be won or lost
Martyr heart the cost
Hope scatters
Petals in the wind, matters
Not for the stems green
Beauty, taken torn, unseen
And still we play the game
With only petals left to blame





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