Scent of flowers,
in urban flourish,
green garden frame,
rustic oddball inset,
tickles noses now,
fragrant smell hoist,
amid the hue tint,
immune to traffic,
yet sonic cadre,
to tilting roses,
crushed stone plot,
when train or tram,
bus, taxi, bicycle,
whizz past idyllic, 
scenery and sound,
mild distraction fraught,
but not saught after,
as of yet perhaps,
a first light signage,
has its scheme,
that plot on schedule.