Learn patience, understanding, and compliance with the rules of the game my young friend. Anger, rage, and bending of the rules can be the most destructive of forces. Out of control these bad habits bring forth devastation and ruin. I recall a time in the past, in another land, when I was the unfortunate witness and participant in a war of emotions. Hear now the tale of this most destructive conflict.

In the course of my travels I came upon a most pleasant place, a meadow covered with flowers and caressed by a gentle stream. So pleasant was this place that I decided to remain awhile. The flowers filled the air with an enchanting mix of aromas and unheard sounds of singing. The meadow was quiet, yet the sound persisted. I spent days wandering about the meadow noting all the variations in the size and types of flowers. I came upon a special place of immeasurable tranquillity. There in the center of the of the field was a single rose. It was the only rose I had seen among the all the flowers of the meadow.

The rose became my favorite and I did stay near it. I made note of its scent often. I touched it gently so as not to bruise it in any way. I brought it gifts of colored stones and placed them about it in geometric patterns so as to enhance the display of its beauty. The rose became my friend and did comfort me. It danced in the breezes to show me its beauty from all sides. It sang to me in words heard not by the ears but by the heart. The rose and I had many hours of pleasure together. We became one, the Warrior and the Rose. Here before me was all that I had fought for in all the battles I had endured.

How many days I had been there I do not remember. It did come to pass that I did stumble. I passed a day that I did not complete my search for the special stone to place about the rose; instead I brought a more common stone. It did offend the rose. The rose did become rigid and stiffen against the breeze. It refused to dance and sing for me. I immediately understood offense I had committed.

I tried to apologize. I reached forth to touch it gently. A thorn did gleam brightly and prick me with a burning sting. I reached out again, respecting the scorning pain. Again, the thorn did sting, ripping flesh with searing pain. The act did offend me and did spill my blood. Upon the ground the blood fell killing the grass it touched. With the heat of rage the blood did cause the sand to boil.

The warrior's mind did come alive. No fool shall spill my blood and go unscathed! In the warrior's wrath thou shall bathe! I drew forth my sword and its blade did sing the song of war. As the sword came free and was held high, there came forth a bolt of lightning from a darkened sky. The tip of the blade did seize the bolt. I did swing the sword to guide the lightning's strike, now in the darkest of the night. Towards the rose the bolt did spring and did strike the cursed thing. The voice of the warrior did rise like thunder, burning words did strike the grass and flowers far and wide. The rage grew worse and ten times as strong. The sword did strike again at the rose's stem. The rose did wither and turn away. The warrior withdrew and walked away. He fell asleep upon the ground not to make another sound.

The morning Sun did come to rise, revealing destruction far and wide. The war had come and destroyed the land. Then came so lightly a helping hand. A little elfin with big brown eyes awoke the warrior with a gentle hand. See my friend, the destruction caused by you. Why would you strike a defenseless rose? Then the elfin saw the scars of thorn, a mighty warrior ripped and torn. A great war did rage I see, said she. The ground was charred and burned as far as the eyes could see. No more flowers of pleasant dreams, just the remains of things condemned.

The elfin did say to the warrior, "Come with me, you have a sight to see." She took the warrior to the site of the rose. All the gifts of stone were gone. The rose was charred and burned and bent so low. The warrior's eyes did tear; the warrior's heart felt fear.

Was the rose dead, killed by the warriors own hand? The elfin then did point to the rose's stem. There did grow a very small bud. In brilliant color and beauty it stood. The warrior extended a wounded hand. The rose responded in kind, gently brushing the wounds shown there. Shall we begin again? Can we restore the beauty of this land, the Warrior and the Rose did say. Let us make tomorrow a beautiful day!