The rose was the most beautiful plant the park had ever seen. Soft beams of moonlight caressed it at night. They changed the colour of its petals from bright red to a light shade of purple. In the morning dew formed delicate drops on them, refracting the first sunlight. Rays of sunlight made it glow throughout the day, a soft red candle to been seen from every spot in the park. That was when it spread it's perfume, so sweet it cast a spell on every living being able to smell.

A young man passed by the rose on his way to his love. His every thought was focused on her, and he didn't see the rose. But it's scent hit him and made him turn his head. It was the smell of his love and the rose was just as beautiful as she was. He plucked it and gave it to his girl with a smile, his expectations so high he imagined a joyous gleam in her eye.

The boy took her for a walk in the park, where they came to stop by the bush from which the rose had come. The argument was short and painful, her voice echoing around the meadows and shrubs and trees. She threw the delicate rose away and left him standing. He took the rose and lay it down under it's bush, a single tear rolling from the soft petals.

Sunlight still made the rose shine, but dried it out, too, so clouds appeared and covered the sun. They cried for the rose, trying to water it with their tears night and day. Now there was no light to play up it's beauty and it's perfume got washed away with rain.
And it died for love, and it died in vain.