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From a Cracked Pot
The rose and thorn
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There was once an enchanted garden in a faraway kingdom. The queen of the kingdom tended the garden diligently, for she loved the flowers that bloomed there. The garden was a happy, peaceful place with towering trees that sheltered songbirds, and a gurgling stream that feed all with its pure water.
One day, the king brought a beautiful budding bush to the queen from a distant land. She took the gift to her magical garden and planted it in the midst of the other flowers. “This shall be my Rose, for it will be as beautiful as the rising sun,” said she.
The garden welcomed The Rose, for they loved the queen as she loved them. Soon the buds upon The Rose blossomed into glorious flowers with a fragrance that wafted above the scents of the other flowers in the garden. Its branches were so large, and the foliage so deep, the songbirds began nesting there instead of the trees above. The queen loved The Rose and cut the blossoms for the halls of her castle so that she might always be reminded of the king's love for her.
The Rose was proud of its special significance, and grew arrogant and full of ridicule for the other flowers. It boasted of its self-importance constantly, “Look at my leaves, how green they are! Look at my branches, so sturdy the birds may nest amongst them! Look at my petals, how perfect and fragrant they are! See how the queen adores me above all of you!”
Unbeknownst to the flower, however, a spindly Thorn, twisted and distorted, snaked his way into the garden. The Rose was so enamored of her many attributes, she took no notice of The Thorn, until it reached her base. The Thorn despised The Rose's beauty, and challenged her arrogance and conceit. “Why should you boast so, Rose?” he asked. “Do you not know that you could be cast down as easily as any of these others in the garden?”
“How could you say such a thing!” cried The Rose. “The queen loves me best! And why shouldn't she? Haven't you eyes to see my beauty? Can you not smell my fragrant perfume?”
The Thorn answered not a word, but wound its way up The Rose's spine and clawed at her stems until they were one - The Rose and The Thorn.
The next morning, the queen came to the garden to gather blossoms from The Rose. But as she did so, The Thorn reached out and buried its spears into her fragile body, drawing the life's blood from her. The queen sank to the ground, for The Thorn had taken her life. Finding his queen at the feet of The Rose, the king went into a rage. In an all consuming grief, he drew his sword and hacked at The Rose until she was utterly destroyed. He did not care how beautiful were her blooms, or how fragrant her perfume, for she had taken the life of his beloved. … And never again has a rose grown without a thorn.
The moral of the story: Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall. (1 Cor 10:12). … Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall. (Prov 16:18).