Black Roses

Have you ever wondered why there are no black roses? If you'd like, I can tell you the story; sit back and listen.

When the world was being created and nothing yet had names, the gods created flowers. Colorful carpets covered the meadows and pastures, spreading a wonderful fragrance through the air. Of all the flowers, the most beautiful and proud were those we now call roses, and among them, the most prominent were those with petals as black as ebony. Their fragrance soothed the sadness in the heart, and the head, gracefully erect on its slender stem, awakened a joy as pure as a cold mountain stream.

The gods gazed in admiration at their work, proud that something so beautiful had come from their hands, marveling at the beauty of the flower. The sun, still young, smiled, kissing the rose petals reverently, and the rain, enamoured with its rustling, declared its love for them.

Night saw them. The jealous lady was furious because the black roses, even curled into buds, resting after a tiring day, were more beautiful than she was, even though her hair was woven with diamond star drops, and her silver face lit up the world. She couldn't bear the thought that someone could praise these fragile, frail plants instead of her charms.

Night shook her head ominously, throwing off the ornaments from her hair. She brought a starry rain, and each diamond drop, heated by the dark lady's hatred, fell on a single black rose...

***

In the morning, the gods, walking the earth, noticed the absence of their beloved flowers. They searched for a long time, but where the roses had been, they found only teardrop-shaped pieces of diamonds. They understood. They no longer tried to create black roses.

Why are you sad? I'll tell you a secret. They say there's a place, somewhere in the world, where it's never night. Perhaps the roses survived there?