A flower oh-so-pretty,
With petals curled at the tip,
It's white and soft and beautiful,
And with it comes a myth.
A story of love so true and bold,
A mountain one must climb,
To show his love for his fair maiden,
A journey once sublime.
He knows of the danger he will face,
How the journey means so much,
He will pick a flower, an Edelweiss,
And will give it to his love.
Upon return she finds the flower,
It's meaning one that's pure and true,
His love for her proven unwavering,
So beautiful and new.
But what happens when the flower wilts?
Does its existence lose all meaning?
It dries and browns and turns to dust,
The love it represented start weaning?
