Rose in a city

Between the bricks of a lonely town's
road some brown remains stood silently
of what once was a rose.

It had lived a dangerous life,
as far as roses can act and not be
acted upon, by the wind, the rain and the cars and the bicycles.

And on a day the flower was stolen from the stem
and it's odours could be smelled on a balcony,
in this lonely lonely town.