Saying it with roses

A dozen red roses are wedged in the letterbox,
Wrapped in clear cellophane, simple and neat.
Soon she'll come home after work. In the twilight
She'll see the bouquet as she enters the street.

Maybe a note has been pushed through the letter box:
'I'm sorry. Forgive me. It's all a mistake.'
But the first thing she'll see is the dozen red roses.
And the roses don't know how much may be at stake.