See the last orange roses, how they blow / Deeper and heavier than in their prime, / In one defiant flame before they go ...
The alarm rings 4:45, again at 5, but I wake up 4:30 naturally. Shower, shave, orange juice, perk my own coffee, hear the news, and the CBS car arrives 5:30.
Who wants an orange whip? Orange whip? Orange whip? Three orange whips.
Knowledge is a Bed of Roses; for Every Beautiful Flower, there are a Dozen Thorns to Match