I pick and pluck at a lone rose,
Found in the endless forest of eternal isolation,
I sit on a log,
Staring at God's red creation,
The symbol of love,
With its many petals,
I look to the sky above,
And I think,

"She Loves me...
She loves me not..."

My body is but an empty carcass,
With a shadow of a soul sitting in its center,
It has found one thing to keep itself alive,
To see her smile everyday,

Startled, my hands stop plucking,
And I look at the bare rose,

She loves me not.