A Once long long ago in Greece of old there was a man named Rowe. Rowe was a beautifully handsome prince, with long, silken hair as black as the midnight sky and Eyes as green as the spring grass that grew in abundance throughout the meadows. He was of a slender stature, but strong and lithe, and he had a voice that could melt the winter away. As was expected, Prince Rowe captured every heart he chanced upon.  Even the golden heart of Aphrodite, the Goddess of love and beauty, was held by the stunning prince. But Prince Rowe was a self absorbed rogue, his heart was unable to love anyone but himself. He played with the hearts of those who loved him.
 He Twisted their love around his fingers and amused himself with their folly. Even knowing this, everyone who loved him believed maybe they would be the one to end his viciousness and solitude. Hearts by the hundreds were offered at his feat and stepped on in disdain. Thousands ended their lives because of his coldness, believing that without his love they could not go on.
 One fine spring morning, Aphrodite descended from Mount Olympus. Her heart was in her eyes for all to see as she stood in front of the prince. She glowed in her radiance, everyone stared in awe, surely she would be the one!
 The Goddess smiled at the prince and spoke, her voice echoing like musical chimes and bird song blown around on a gentle breeze. Her voice sang softly as she confessed her love and offered the beautiful prince her heart.
 To the utter astonishment of the crowd and the disgrace of the glowing Goddess, Rowe only preened, gazing passed her in favor of her mirror-like necklace in which his own face was reflected.
 Aphrodite felt a physical pain inside her as her hopes were dashed so hatefully so cruelly . In dejection and anger she placed a curse upon his head. The people watched their beautiful prince transform before their startled gazes into a beautiful and lush green bush the color of his eyes. Over the bush bloomed beautiful red blossoms the like of which the Grecians had never seen. The petals were soft as the prince's skin had been. The branches of the bush strong and lithe as his body, but when a woman tried to pluck a flower, she was pricked by the evil black thorns that crept all along the stems.
 Aphrodite smiled sadly at her once beloved prince and a tear fell like dew to one of the soft red petals. "As you were, now truly you shall be." She sang simply, and then vanished back to her palace on Olympus.
 Her words were true; for the prince Rowe was still very beautiful and soft and loved, but anyone who dared to reach out to him would be hurt by his sharp black thorns just as so many, Aphrodite herself included, were hurt by his hard heart.
 Over the centuries people stopped calling the flowered bush Rowe. He was no longer a single bush but his blossoms had spread throughout their land, and very many others around the world. First the people called the flower a rowe in plural rowes. In time, tongues were unsure and the name was twisted from continent to continent and language to language. Finally it adopted the name we use today. That flower of yesteryear is now the flower most associated with love and lovers, the flower we give on valentines day and the flower that is now a symbol almost as potent as cupid or the heart. The stunning rowe flower is known to us as the rose.