Thirty feet of white picket fence,
doesn't sound that exciting.
But Oh, to see the blood red blooms,
of a Rambler at one end entwining.
In and out, it weaves its spell,
all but hiding the aged white boards.
The picket fence holds strong and true,
a trellis to the Rose it affords.
At the other end of the yard,
where the fence meets...
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