flattened flowers on a tar road

almost every day on the road i see crushed flowers of so many colours. walked over, run over, stamped over. but initially, thrown over the cart which is at the head of a procession carrying a body on its final journey. and once the body has passed, the flowers colouring up the road are a testimonial to life's passing. and as further proof, life actually passes over those flowers, and they become part of the tyres and the houses and the streets where those tyres go. soon, the perfume and the colour of death passes into every house in the entire city. whatever after all is on the road, must reach somewhere.