The man sweeping the synagogue paused for a moment. He looked at the flowers lying about in disorder. ‘What waste!’ he said to himself. Those roses had adorned the pulpit at a wedding an hour before. Now all was over and they were waiting to be discarded.
The attendant leaning on his sweeper was lost in thought when suddenly he heard a strange sound. One of the roses replied to him.
‘Do you call this a waste?’ the flower protested. ‘What is life anyway, yours or mine, but a means of service? My mission was to create some fragrance and beauty; and when I have fulfilled it my life has not been wasted. And what greater privilege is there than to adorn a bride’s way to her beloved? What greater privilege than to help glorify the moment when a bride and groom seal their faith in each other by entering the covenant of marriage?
Our little flower paused for a moment to watch the man’s face, and then continued her discourse.
‘Roses are like people. They live in deeds, not in time.’
