the poet's wife

She's starting to wilt, somewhat - who can blame her in this unseasonable heat? - but I picked these two flowers that were drooping over our fence and onto our neighbor's property, and brought them inside where we can enjoy them.  It was a somewhat perilous climb to get them - perilous because a neighboring rose had aggressively sharp thorns.

I wish I could remember more about the little blue and white vase.  It seems to me that I've always known it: it was among a small number that lived in the bottom of the corner cupboard in the dining room - one of the vases that was habitually used for the miniature posies and couple of stems that my mother delighted in.  But where did she get it?  Was it a junkshop find; a gift from her mother, or ...?  Whatever, it's perfectly balanced, and looks perfect with the yellow roses.  

Also, none of the horticultural websites that sing the praises of this David Austin rose seem to worry - unlike me - if she had a name of her own ...