It is a perfect rose. A slender, long bud tainted a delicate pink, oh so softly whispering of darker colors in it's heart. Each petal perfectly intact, perfectly shaped, perfectly formed by an invisible hand. I almost thought it wasn't real. I was in the mood to buy a rose, but couldn't think who to get one for. So I got it for myself. Selfish, perhaps, but so rewarding. It is a perfect rose.