I hold a bouquet of small flowers,
while a light autumn rain showers.
I tear the petals one by one,
in the distance sets the Sun...
The horizon shyly blushes,
on the naked trees and bushes,
wind carries the flower petals,
more valuable than precious metals.
„She loves me, she loves me not,“
I keep asking the flowers a lot,
Full of questions, of self-doubt,
I want to scream, I want to shout.
The last petal falls,
„She loves me...“
on the cold, damp ground,
„... not...“
I freeze in sorrow, not a sound,
like an empty flower pot.
Suddenly the rain has stopped,
and with it, disappear my fears...
Sun still shines, though weakly,
and an evening rainbow appears....