Normally I cut down the wild rose in our front garden as soon as the shoots appear.
It is an uninvited guest, and its stems grow long enough to spear passers by.
This year I forgot.
My neglect means that it has bloomed for the first time in years.
I braved the fearsome thorns to snip the flowers.
Ephemeral and prickly, but pretty enough to be worth a punctured finger or two.