The Roses
Imagine a man born blind,
blind for 39 years
until one morning
while praying in his garden
his prayer is answered:
He can see.
It is June, and the roses
surround him with a crimson welcome
to our world of sight.
At first he does not know beauty
in the same way as us,
but he feels the need for a ritual,
a baptism to mark
this day of second birth.
And so he firmly grasps
the nearest stem
and sees for the first time
the color of blood.