As the faeries fly to the Sacred Tree,
Some say, "Could it be the Great Prophecy?"
A gem lost long ago,
Could it be so?
"As love is love,
A touch is gentle as a dove,
Who can grow the Golden Flower,
But you only have an hour.
A heart so pure,
Can be the only cure."
A brave soul steps up,
With only water in a cup.
While others laughed before,
She gently tips the cup and pours.
Then she sang a sweet song,
For that was the cure all along.