Author Lizette Woodworth Reese Unpetal the flower of me, And cast it to the gust; Betray me if you will; Trample me to dust. But that I should go bare, But that I should go free Of any hurt at all ā Do not this thing to me. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments