All the Red Roses

All the red roses mean and miserly, did not ask themselves why, before night has even come, they would shed their petals? Did not imprison - with this thought - their brilliant colors their virgin scents. Did not set on the scales of illusion "beginning", "end". Mean and miserly, did not think of the deceit of their "profit". Did not "think" at all! Only bloomed with all its heart, in every moment, the red rose alone ...