As shrubs go, this pretty white flower, star- shaped (if you sort of look at the petals from an angle), is scent-free, pedestrian; not for it the glory of the white rose photographed with fine glass and damask in some glossy issue of Vogue, or the ethereally fragile hothouse lily, touch-me-not, dainty. The chandni as we call it in my part of the world, is pedestrian, common, hardy, its only distinction that it grows without much attention, takes root wherever it is set, and produces, from time to time, a cover of tiny white blooms nestled between white-green leaves. A braided cover shall bedeck my bier one day, so I shall leave word, and take on this star shape scattered on the waters.