I need help identifying the symbol of the smell of the red rose in this poem?

I need help with this question:

What does the sweet smell of roses symbolize? Use specific evidence from the text and your own explanations to support your answer.

This is the poem

Title: A Sweet Smell Of Roses

By Angela Johnson

The Poem is below

After a night of soft rain

There is a sweet smell of roses as my sister, Minnie and I slip

past Mama's door and out of the house down Charlotte Street.

Past the the early-morning milkman, over the cobbled bridge and through the curb

market to where everybody waits to march.

Minnie and I are only waist high to most of them.

Waist high, Minnie and me,

waist high

holding hands

and waiting to march.

There is a sweet smell of roses

As everyone waits for Dr. King to speak.

And the color...

Bright light from the sun on the flowers besides the road

as we listen to Dr. King on

the megaphone say,

"We are right.

We March for equality and freedom."

Then we start to march,

Minnie and me.

We look ahead and walk faster like him.

Clapping in time with our feet.

Looking ahead,

just like him.

There is a sweet smell of roses

Even as we march past the

people who scream, shout, and say

"You are not right.

Equality can't be yours"

Then we look farther down the road and keep holding hands, feeling a part of it all.

Walking our way toward freedom.

There is a sweet smell of roses as more people start to marching with us pouring

out of the side streets, clapping and singing.

"Freedom!" "Freedom!"

Then someone picks me up

and pulls me on his shoulders.

Somebody picks Minnie up too

And we are high above everybody, still marching.

There is a sweet smell of roses as

we all gather in the center of town.

All together.

All here.

Listening to Dr. King as the sun gets higher in the sky...

He talks about peace,

love,

nonviolence,

and change for everybody.

And the sun gets higher in the sky...

When it's time to go,

we skip back hand in hand

Minnie and me.

Singing freedom songs along

the streets.

Through the curb market, over the cobbled bidge, and past the mailman...

... to our house on Charlotte Street.

Then there is Mama,

worried face,

waiting there for us.

She smiles after a while,

hugging us,

then takes our hands

And as we tell her about the march,

the curtains float apart

and there is a sweet smell of roses all through our house.