Mid-Life Cycling

Mid-Life Cycling

11 March 2011

Rose, Thou Are Well


O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

I took a slightly different route to work today.  Along the way, I found this:


Does this mean the rose's (with an unnecessary apostrophe) have gotten well? 

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