She was nicknamed Lady Muck by the villagers for the way she ordered everyone about.

Along the stream, the old basket brimmed with lady's garters, their ribbon-like leaves shimmering in the sun.

The botanist carefully documented the spread of lady's bedstraw along the roadside hedgerow.

In late summer the old garden was draped in lady's bower, its fragrant white blossoms spilling over the wooden trellis.

A cluster of lady's hair swayed in the breeze along the meadow path.

At dusk, Lady Liberty stood on the cliff, her torch raised like a solemn promise of freedom to every ship approaching the harbor.

She paused to examine a single lady's smock growing by the stream.

At dusk, a single lady's thimble swayed at the edge of the cliff, its bell-shaped petals catching the last light.

Along the windswept cliffs, a dense tuft of lady's cushion clung stubbornly to the stone.

The lady's laces climbed the trellis, their delicate tendrils searching for new holds.