My Love is Like a Red Red Rose.

There we were strolling along the promenade when we spotted this lovely bunch of roses carefully placed inside a drain in the seawall.

Was it the end of a story or the beginning?

Maybe a lover was left waiting in the cold easterly wind? Did she/he not turn up?

Imagine him, we'll say it was a him, walking up and down, collar up looking at his watch, checking his phone. Did he make a mistake with the time and date?

Should he text? No that would be too obvious.

'I'll just hang about for a few more minutes" he thinks. Maybe after an hour he decided to give up and left but placed the roses just incase she turned up so she would know he had waited.

The end of a beginning.