A few lovely dried roses still hanging on to the plant with a fine covering of frost as winter approaches tends to bring to mind some of the dear and kind older characters I used to take care of back in my home health nursing days. 
A softer and more fragile kind of beauty than seen in earlier days to be sure-but still recognizable for what they once were. Are they valued for their very rarity?
Only the strongest ones remain for a bit longer. Many kinds of strength though. Were they the lucky ones? Ask them. They are a lovable lot. What's not to love?
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