Roses

I was walking through town
when something caught my eye.
A bouquet of roses
sat lonely on a trash can.
Left out in the frigid air,
a few petals had been browned.
But wrapped so neatly,
arranged with such care,
I couldn’t help but wonder,
“Why would someone leave them?”
Perhaps the owner came
to see a sweetheart true,
only to find a world of heartbreak
and fled in pitiful sorrow.
Perhaps it was a meeting spot
and I was only there
in the middle of a story
not there to see the end.
That woman in black heels,
the one across the street,
may have wandered over
after I had left in thought.
Perhaps that boy with shades
had placed them on the bin
to wait for her and sing
her praises when she came.
I do not know their fate.
I do not know their tale.
But I can make up stories
about the roses I saw in town.

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