Tale of Three Rose Bushes (based on a true story)

A honeybee finding refuge in the flower of the one faithful rose bush

Three rose bushes low and bare slept in front of an old farmhouse. When spring arrived, they began to quicken with the coming of the warm sun. Optimistically, they pushed out sprig after sprig of tender leaves to soak up the generous sunlight.  The bushes sighed and smiled at the beginning of a new season of growth.  First was the stage of green-stem, stalk, and leaves. The green prepared for the stage that would follow…the bloom! Every rose bush yearned and labored for the time when their arms would be adorned with vibrant fragrant flowers. They cherished the admiration of the people as they gazed, smelled, and praised. Truly, the pride of the rose bush was the bloom. As the three freshly awakened bushes sprang to life, they dreamed of the beauty they would bring forth in due time.

Their daydreams, however, were rudely disturbed as a rabbit hopped up, tempted by the emerging leaves. Ruthlessly, the rabbit devoured every last speck of life from the bushes. Day after day, the three rose bushes fought to keep leaves on their branches, but it was in vain. The rabbit was soon joined by a goat, and each animal preferred the taste of the rose leaves above all else. Between the two of them, they kept the poor rose bushes as naked as can be.  By and by, the rabbit and the goat moved along and left the three rose bushes in peace.

“Finally!” cried the bushes. They fervently shot out growth in every direction desperately trying to make up for lost time, but alas, it was already the end of summer and, although the bushes now had managed hardy stems and foliage, they were exhausted and disheartened.

The first bush clenched its roots in the soil and said with pride, “I shall put forth no flowers this year. For even if I manage to make a few blooms, I shall look so disgraceful with so little and the people will mock and despise me. It will be better for me to have no flowers at all!”

The second bush trembled in the soil as it said, “I may be able to put out a flower or two, but I fear that goat will return to rob me of my flowers just as it did my leaves and it will be all in vain. I would rather stay safe and make no flowers at all.”

The third rose bush, which was the smallest of the group, straightened its trunk toward the sky with duty and firm resolve. “I believe I only have the strength to bring forth one small rose, but it is better to give all I can to bring a bit of beauty and joy into this world even if it is so little and even if it is also stollen from me as my leaves were. This is my good work and what I was created to do.”

With great courage and effort, the smallest steadfast rose bush produced a single bud. As it began to burst apart, the bright color and tantalizing smell lured in a wandering chicken who mindlessly pecked half of the petals from the rose before it was even fully bloomed. The other two rose bushes looked on and smirked to themselves.

“What a pathetic sight!” said the first.

“I knew it would only end in destruction,” sighed the second.

The third little bush, however, humbly opened the tattered petals of its single battered rose, displaying its lowly gift to the world. That single torn rose shone as a brilliant peach vision amid the frantic tangle of branches and thorns. Its smell was lovely and inviting. As the rose bush held its single rose with faithful obedience to its calling, a weary honeybee tumbled into its petals and hummed a gentle, “Thank you.”