“The honeysuckle was everywhere the day the letter arrived, like heat. Wild roses bloomed in hedges of tendrils and perfume. There were fat bees, dirigible bees, plump and miniature. It was a sweet, tangled morning, and the sun rose, leisurely, in a spectacular blush.”

“A rose dreams of enjoying the company of bees, but none appears. The sun asks:“Aren’t you tired of waiting?”“Yes,” answers the rose, “but if I close my petals, I will wither and die.”

“Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?”

“Love is like the wild rose-briar;Friendship like the holly-tree.The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,But which will bloom most constantly?The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,Its summer blossoms scent the air;Yet wait till winter comes again,And who will call the wild-briar fair?Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,And deck thee with holly's sheen,That, when December blights thy brow,He still may leave thy garland green.”

“A bee rose up from a sun-filled paper cup, off to make slum honey from some diet root beer it had found inside.”

“She blushes like a rose in bloom, though I ripped her up from the roots long ago.”