When I got home from Paris yesterday the roses on my terrace were getting battered around a bit by wind and rain. I picked them.
Today when I got home I could smell them before I even opened the front door.
That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet
Quailia Nothing
My eyes
I love those big old-style roses with lots of layers of petals. they also tend to still have lots of perfume, too