I once knew a gentle youth
One who, with time, did all he could do.
A shy ambition and a great affliction
Handed to him as a bundle of roses,
Those accursed sixty-five white roses
That wilted and withered too soon.

A great believer of love was this youth,
A devout giver of endless compassion
Playing his gift for the world's satisfaction
Though constantly troubled by his own mortality,
A terrifying thing was his own mortality
Breaking from him with each breath he drew.

All he knew were keys black and white,
And the family that gave him strength to continue the fight
Against what always ailed him without mercy or end –
The wretched curse of the sixty-five roses,
Constant battle against sixty-five white roses
That quickly overcame his remarkable life.

Brother, I look for you among the stars at night...