The living is easy for first-bloom roses. Born in late May, days
past the last frost-possible day, they inherit late evenings, balmy air and no Japanese beetles. They can look forward to a long,
splendid life. (That’s in rose years of course.)

 But second-bloom roses emerge when the sun tilts lower in the sky, when the nights become
nippy, and — this year, at least — when autumn rains mat the grass and rattle limbs loose from the tall oaks.

They may not always hold their heads up like their spring brethren. But they should. Theirs is the harder lot.  Second-bloom roses are the bravest.