Out of the fertile gloom of the garden behind the little blue house in the village, there rises a single radiant David Austin rose this morning, one called simply "Heritage". It is pale and lavishly cupped with a golden heart, perfectly shaped and divinely fragrant.
Not even a summer monsoon can eclipse its splendor, and all the perfumes of Araby cannot compete.
2 comments:
Cate, What an exquisite bloom.
Wow, wow, wow!
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