Scent of the roses.
Remember me as the flower you plucked,
And not the one who you trod upon.
Though the scent of the roses becomes stronger.
The dew that fell in the early hours of the morning
Has dried up, shriveling some petals here and there.
The scent of the roses swirl in the maddening wind,
As petals slowly drift away, in a sorry slow motion.
The scent of roses has become so much stronger,
When you trod so carelessly upon the very flower.
Crushing the petals underneath your foot,
But woe the scent does not die and fade.