I was, to be given to someone
As a symbol of true love
She was a studious one
And he was an average above
He wanted to give her a rose
But, was doubtful and scared
So he wrote her a nice prose
With an ink of color red
Library was her favorite place
So he placed the prose with a rose
And tied it with a thin threaded lace
As she glanced him with a pose
He placed a note and the flower
In her favorite research book
And waited her for an hour
But she was already in a hook
This broke his innocent heart
As he thought his love was blooming
Coz she was alone from the start
Unfortunately, he kept on assuming
The old books got replaced, over the week
As all got outshelved in the storage
No hands could reach and seek
This special book in the wreckage
My fragrance and youth, left me
And sank within the heavy pages
I am withered old, for no one to see
Stuck with the unread prose, for ages
Burnt in a sudden fire
Few books, behind and around
None was this books buyer
It just laid aimless on the dusty ground
A dead rose, covered within sheets
Hoping to be found oneday
If this book gets sold on the streets
Someone might have a special day...
©sim
"I" - in this write refers to a rose.
