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THE WIND, THE FIR AND THE ROSE
THE WIND, THE FIR AND THE ROSE
While the wind walks up and down the village,
all the time at the same speed,
I looked at that fir,
bent down to the ground by the wind.
It must be very, very old,
but it's still so beautiful and
dignified.
And the wind, the prince of Freedom,
looked at the wild rose
and started to caress her red face,
asking her
to agree
that he might propose to her
to get engaged.
The rose suspiciously listened to it
bending its head a little from time
to time.
Now the wind bends the fir tree to the ground again,
so it might say a few words on his behalf,
and the fir tree started fondling the face of that village beauty
with a motherly tenderness,
showering drops of a bygone rain all around her,
- glistening on her noble face like pearly dew -
so that the rose might have its grace as a dowry,
and the rose majestically nodded to the
prince of Freedom,
like a princess of love,
agreeing to become the princess of Freedom.
And I thought:
“If men could only bend to the ground so easily,
like a fir tree,
there would be more love left for all of us.”
© 2010 Walter William Safar
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