The death of a Rose

When the rose was there
Fragrance wafted in the air
Bees were busy at sucking
Traders were going for plucking
Struck by wanton beauty
Rose-lovers stopped the robbery.
But it faded away soon
As if from morning to noon.
As it kissed the ground
Petal by petal, red-pinkish
Without a murmur or sound
Sweet-sodden, lovelorn, nostalgic
The wind became rusty and heavy
They thronged around the body
To silently mourn the crumbling
To wail from suppressed suffering.

Some humans spread more fragrance
After they cross the mortal space.