Checking on the bearded iris this morning, I spotted this interloper. Isn't she exquisite. For some reason she reminds me of that delicious taste of eggs when the yolk is perfectly cooked.
From yolk to love, of course. And no, I wasn't punning on yoke and love. It's probable that more love poems include a reference to roses than not. Not scientifically proven, just a hunch. A hunch like adding fresh red sorrel to eggs might be, if not downright exquisite, at least quite grand.
P.S. The bearded irises are well. Stayed tuned.