On the pages of my life
the good, the bad, and in between,
is the page of my regrets.

I saw your bloom, tucked in this page,
withered now, a rose in time.

I thought you were my friend?
Tell me, why this bitter end?
Nothing came although long sought,
and now your voice is silent.

Today I turned the pages back,
to the place in time we met.
How could I forget you?

I oiled the flower
and gave it life,
and pressed it lovingly.

Back in the volume, there you'll be,
in the folds of my past life;
a place of friendship, not regret,
and there you will remain.