This violet was very small three weeks ago. Among the tiny leaves that enveloped it, it was hiding with a coquettish self-satisfaction, even afraid of my gaze of admiration. But I had seen it in my lovely garden and appreciated it.
Then I raised it with all the sincerity of my heart. It developed. Every morning I would drown it in caresses with the kiss of my heart.
One day a child I loved very much from our family asked me for it with this respectful and smiling sentence. To avoid picking it, I tried to dissuade the child with a thousand kinds of innocent excuses, saying: “Look, sweetie… shall I pick this tulip for you, or this rose if you’d like, wouldn’t that work?”
“Wouldn’t that work?”
Oh, but it wasn’t possible. “No,” he was saying, “I will love it with such care.”
**
After this memory, I was seeing that this flower, receiving a thousand kisses of respect from his delicate lips, was being loved with deep passion and appreciation.
