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