• He loves me . . .
    He loves me not . . .
    He loves me . . .
    He loves me not . . .

    The wind blows softly
    on one morning in January
    carrying away
    the petals of a dark red rose

    Even when the petals
    stop on "He loves me"
    you don't know
    if it's really true

    He loves me . . .
    He loves me not . . .
    He loves me . . .
    He loves me not . . .