The Story Of A Flower

flower

The morning of my birth had been a glorious day. Only just the day before, I had been nothing more than a tiny seed, but now – now I had burst through my prison of clay and emerged into the growing, laughing world. I had mingled my song with the ringing chorus around me. Each morning I unfurled my tender leaves to breath in the delicious sunshine. I sent my roots down deep into the soil and soaked in the refreshing water. Each day I looked upon myself in wonder. With each sunrise I grew taller, grander, fairer. My hope soared and my heart fluttered as I wondered what I would be.

Then they came, the beautiful beautiful flowers. I had never felt so pleased with myself. 

But soon they came too, the soldiers, hundreds and hundreds of them. They charged at each other, trampling down my friends with their heavy boots. I hoped desperately that they would not hurt me. They did. Before I knew it, some  strange flying rock had nocked off one of my flowers, sending it many feet away, but that was not the worst of it. A singeing ball of flame shot over me and in a moment I was consumed. I was dazed. There was almost nothing left of me. I was only a single lonely flower, a flower that would soon wither. 

The wind blew strong that day and I was carried far from my native prairie, into a land of stone and asphalt. I landed upon a ugly pile of rubbish. All I could see around me were the demolished buildings and empty streets of a war wrecked city. 

At night, I felt terribly cold. When I was almost beginning to freeze, I was shocked by a strange warmth that came over me. I was lifted up into the air and I saw that a man was holding me. He seemed sadder than any man I had ever seen before. He looked at me for a long time, and as he did,  I saw the sorrow in his face dissolve into oblivion.

Then it came – the beautiful beautiful smile, and I had never felt so pleased with myself.

2 thoughts on “The Story Of A Flower

  1. Good solid message. The places where we think we do the most good are not always really those places, are they? And sometimes we have to be uprooted from everything we loved before we realize that.
    Good work, Daeus. Keep it up.

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