There was a story I heard told once upon a star,
of a young siren who sings a sad, plaintive tune about a blue rose.
They say, a grass-fairy kissed a white rose and gave it to her blue,
a beacon of hope it become; the cradle of her dreams.
Alas, the wind, in a fit of jealousy stole it away,
and so the young siren swims the rough oceans and wanders the green earth
In search of her rose, her hope and cradle of her dreams.
They say that when she caresses white roses,
a faint blush of blue pigment can be seen where her fingers have been.
Though, you will never find a rose as blue as her fairy-kissed one,
you’ll know she has passed by if you happen across a blue-blushed white rose.
