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| Rose
Jungle For thiry-one years she planted roses, until the withered structure of the house became thorned flesh. At night she would lie exhausted and crucified. For thiry-one years she had planted. From the road I could see only a mountain of roses growing wild. "Why don't you train the stems to bow?" I asked. "The wind is the better teacher," she said. "Why don't you trim their arms?" "In due time these arms will embrace the earth. I will not lessen their love." --Henry Dumas |