Late in the autumn I dug up a spot of earth in my small garden and planted a tulip bulb. Several days later, frost fell and before long snow covered the garden. When spring arrived the next year and the snow had all but disappeared, the tulip broke through the earth, sending out its sturdy stem and green leaves. As the sun regained its power, the tulip leaves broadened and became an intense green. Rain and sunshine spread themselves across the garden and stimulated the further growth of the plant.
Early in April the tulip began to open her shy, bell-shaped flower as if she wished to express her great joy as fully as possible on the earth. Thus, the tulip became herself and added rich hue and tone to the garden and my heart as well. At times, bees and butterflies visited the tulip by twos and threes and stayed for several moments, providing the static garden with kinetic images that seemed to reflect the very heart of the earth throbbing with joy in the springtime.
Time passed. The tulip became so attractive that she colored my lips. So I spoke to her, "Tulip, how could you become so pretty?"