I thought I'd served her long enough,
and sat dejected and confused
despairing of the lady's love,
when something gave my hopes a boost.
You'll laugh at me (it seems so small,
more of a consolation prize)
for taking comfort there at all;
but I could feel my fortunes rise.
What cheered me was a blade of grass:
I measured out a stalk I'd plucked
(as children do to learn their luck)
and it said she'd offer me her grace.
Listen and judge if you think she might:
"She will, she won't, she will, she won't, she will."
As much as I've tried it, it's come out right,
but you have to trust in the grass's skill.
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