The first primroses outside the grocery store are always a cheerful sight in January. The potted bulbs will soon follow, then the parade of little plant temptations starts. Down the primrose path we go. And why not?
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
Ernest Dowson
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