...she is a Damask rose
Good that I went out and saw the rose in such dire straits, otherwise I would not have seen her at her worst. The rain has made her soggy and she is bent almost to the ground. Her flowers, which smell more like a rose than almost any other kind of rose, have many petals and are filling with rain and dragging her down.
She complains that she is held only by a string tied to a stake in the ground and it is a situation not worthy of a rose of her stature and lineage. She reminds that she is a Damask rose, and famous for her scent. Why she does not have a proper trellis, she wonders, ...and only a string to hold her beauty. She wishes only to be able to hold herself up properly.
...perhaps tomorrow, I will do something to help her...