All the Red Roses

Lowly and miserly, it did not ask itself why, before night falls, it would shed its petals. It did not lock away — with this thought — its brilliant colors, its pristine scents. It did not set on the scales of illusion the “beginning,” the “end.” Lowly and miserly, it did not think of the deceit of its “profit.” It did not “think” at all! It only bloomed with all its heart, in every moment, only the red rose ...