White Rose Monologue

Here, in my white rose garden,

I kiss plucked petals that have ripened with time: for their beauty still remains in memory.

Here, in my white rose garden, I stargaze under the pale moon's warm light: he who's magic helps my roses bloom.

Though innocence prevails, one cannot prevent, those sharp thorns that taint our roses with ruby red blood.

And, when it's day it's night, and when it's night it's day.

Although far, yet not far enough, the sun must rest, and the moon awake.

For I know with certainty, another night of morning dew will follow.

It cools me, it calms me, but weariness I don't reach.

Only other creatures on the ground, the bushes, and the trees sleep.

And, with a gentle voice, that quells the dark.

Admits the eerie shadows,