Man will but dead one day.
His body decays to the soil,
And make it fertile.
His memories will energize the soil,
And make seed to sprout to a plant.

One day, that plant will blossom,
Flowers are his beautiful memories of his love.
All unsatisfied love is more romantic,
That romance is the aroma of the flowers.

Those aroma from the flowers dissipate to air,
And announce to the world, 'He too had a love story'.
Those flowers yet not turn to a fruit,
Lost in mid of heavy rain and thunder.