Fragrance lingered after the roses wilted away,
a flower never truly dies,
it’s remembered by its perfumed death.

Poor fragile thing only once did you bloom,
that’s in spring.

You cling on to dear life,
even so you still must die for others to
know your perfumed breathe.

On a gush of wind spring brings flowers,
wet grass, and foggy meadows.

Our noses open,
allowing your fragrances to devour
senses and there is where spring lays down to garden.

Rose water,
Lilac mist,
and Smoky Mountain Breeze
such smells are beauty in spring.

The roses must die to fragrance our lives.