gladiola

I ordered a new style of gladiola eight years ago of a man who had his portrait in the bow of his seed catalogue.

I go now into my cellar to bring out the gladiola bulb and the homesick turnip of last year.

Then Gladiola moved up to the squeaky end of the piano and gave an imitation of a Swiss music box.

The way Gladiola went after one of Beethoven's sonatas and slapped its ears was pitiful.

I could squeeze along two years without the gladiola and the oleander in the large tub.