The Little White Rose...

The rose of all the world is not for me.
I want for my part
Only the little white rose of Scotland
That smells sharp and sweet-and breaks the heart.

One of my favourite poems by Hugh McDairmid

Couldn't resist blipping one of the roses from the bunch given to me by my auntie Maisie this afternoon on her last visit before she heads back home to Kent.

Can't linger as Alan is sitting at the kitchen table waiting for his dinner to be dished! Poor child! He was off school today as he is absolutely loaded with the cold. Must be the start of the third week back at school then. Just enough time for all the germs to get around! You could set your watch by it!

Back to blip later I hope. Was too exhausted last night after my hospital shenannigans. xx