"Recently," Dawn Macleod writes, "after forty years of faithful readership, I came into personal contact with my poet..."
"Not only was he unaware of my youthful attachment, but, as a man of striking honesty, he seemed incapable of uttering false or careless words in order to be pleasant."
"Had those carnations, in some mysterious fashion known only to themselves, initiated a mutual kinship between two characters...?"
She continues: "Some say that the Dianthus symbolizes 'the heart's pure affection'; others, 'faithfulness'; the red carnation is singled out by one as 'an emblem of talent'.
I will not make a move then.
"The syrup" of the Clove Carnation "strengthens the heart, refresheth the vital spirits and is a good cordiall in feavers, expelling the poyson and fury of...disease."
I have none of that syrup on hand, unfortunately, though the cinnamon scent is one I recall easily. A 'mutual kinship' is something I've always felt was valuable, but it's a reality about which I can say nothing.
I can say though, that a red carnation is what I hope may be delivered to all those I love out there, whether they are reading, speaking or keeping their peace.