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“On a bed of white roses…
So laid down they head.
On a bed of black roses…
For tears they were wed.
What more could red roses say?
The mystery of orange,
And enchantment of blue.
Do they know how yellow so prayed?”



It was dawn. A woman dressed in red and gold silk sat by a bedside of green and silver cotton. A man lay in the bed. The woman lifted her now frail fingers to graze the wilting cheeks. Both had been taken over by time. Both, however, were not taken over by death. He would go on. She would stay behind. The woman sighed as she watched her lover pass over. All life left his blue eyes. Tears flooded her brown ones. She knew better to cry, but even at an old age, the pain was too great. The woman knew she would never see this man again. Not in life, nor death. This woman was cursed. As he died, time began its reversal on her. Her skin filled with rejuvenating youth. Her hair darkened to its brown black tresses which fell to her waist. Her eyes focused on the mirror as the change continued to progress. Her age was clear to her. She was once again seventeen. The woman shook her head and stood from the chair she so promptly placed to sit in. “He wasn’t the one.”