A rose by the name of bookworm, is still a rose and smells as sweet.
Time alters all things but what it can not change is how each and every petal is truly precious. Each one a small but intricate part of the whole of beauty. Each one even after having fallen, still gracing the air with lovely aroma.
Have you ever seen rose petals rain down? Have you ever seen a path strewn with their magnificent colour? How special are these petals. Even when dry and withered, they are the keeper of our remembrances when pressed between the pages of a keepsake book. After having found freedom from the stem they become the stuff of potpourri, filling the air with a soft fragrant hint of romance.
A rose is always a rose. From its first bloom and blossom until the moment of its fade and fall. And you? In this garden of life there is only one you. A special cultivar. You are indeed a rose bookworm, lovely forevermore.
Benedict Arnold 