The Scottish weavers in Paisley bred the dianthus to get the colors to splay out to the edges. I read they had contests and judging of their work, and that the plaids that they wove were almost reproduced in their flowers.
I love the serrated flower edge too...
The last time I walked here the beds were filled with soft powdery snow, and the colors were the reflection of twinkling lights above in the trees.
Grass with wands as soft as a Persian cat's tail.
Five tiny snowballs of stamen and a center pistol of pale green rise above a netting of gold, splashing white foam upon a lake of deep blue.
(What a shade of blue...so close to the blue of the bluebonnets.)
The fountains misted the air about me, giveing each flower a pave of diamonds.
A whirli-gig design in deep pink with an improbably seed pearl center.
Such richness for only a day!