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You love the roses – so do I. I wish
The sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be
Like sleeping and like waking, all at once!

George Eliot

(Ours right now in the garden are cadmium and fuchsia, not pink or white, but the same thought applies maybe a little more vibrantly!)

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