... when it occurs to you that the First Rose of Summer should be plucked from your garden and left on your partner's desk for her to find as she settles down to her penultimate day's zoomteaching... This is "The Poet's Wife," and her yellow petals smell wonderful. Admittedly, just about every other garden in the neighborhood is crammed with roses in full bloom, and our three bushes are not only stunted and grumpy and in need of feeding, but TPW is being nibbled away by something - two thirds of her leaves have been chewed into intricate lacy patterns, although I can't find any culprits.
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