Wilted

I'm a wilted rose,

There's a sort of beauty in my dying.

To some it's heartbreaking and to others artistic. 

I suppose there's something romantic about a dying rose,

I somehow get more beautiful as I fade away.

I'm a wilted rose.

Once when I was perfect I was given by a lover,

Then pressed between the pages of a book.

Sometimes a child will flip through and stop to look at me,

 The lovers parted and the book was lost.

I miss seeing the world outside these pages, 

When I was still alive I watched the world and I saw life through all ages.

My life was taken to show love,

Love from someone who has long ago descended to live with the stars above.