What a delightful person Rose was. She would brighten any room; any company. Her laughter tinkled like crystal bells that caught and reflected sunlight. Her smile was wonderful but her lips merely reflected the gaiety in her eyes. Her hair hung down in natural ringlets. No need to flat wrap her hair with a curling iron; Nature did it for her.
People said it was all in the name; Rose in name, Rose in nature.
All that was years ago. These days she has thin lips and a slightly pointy nose. Her laughter is like the cackling of a witch. As Ms Angelina Bright from down the road declared, “Her straight grey hair is best covered by a pointy hat.”
People said it was all in the name; Rose in name, prickly in nature.
Weave a Web 
This is brilliant. I read the first paragraph, and I wondered if you’d suddenly gone soft. It was quite lyrical. But then the last made me say, “Ah! Classic Bruce.”
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Thanks, Nitin. That is greatly appreciated!
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Shame to be defined by a name and never become what you really want to be…
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That’s true – although the one Flora I’ve known was very wooden.
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This is a philosophical, if callous, account of evanescence of beauty.
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Yes – I guess I was (partially) depressed..
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You were a killer in the end. Surprisingly nice and graceful though.
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Thank you!
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A rose by any other name would smell…
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It’s almost impossible to smell the roses when there’s something rotten in the state of Denmark.
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