Wandering through fields of petals,
Bare feet leave imprints on dew sprinkled grass.
At peace with the world,
Oblivious to the mourning cries of loves from the past.
Whispering gently the words that decide my fate
"He loves me, he loves me not."
Each yellow petal that floats to the ground
Bears your picture.
A sharp breath before I pull the last petal
And the outcome of this charade is revealed.
You whisper these words
And I melt into bliss,
"Je T'aime."