A young traveller was visiting the French Alps. He came upon a vast stretch of barren land. It was just a desert. It was the kind of place we run away from! Then, suddenly, the young traveller noticed something unusual. In the middle of this vast wasteland was an old man. On his back was a sack of oak nuts. In his hand was an iron pipe. The man was using the iron pipe to punch holes in the ground. Then from the sack he would take a seed and put it in the hole. The Traveller approached the old man and asked what he was doing? He said, "I've planted over 100,000 oak seeds here. Perhaps only a tenth of them will grow." The old man's wife and son had died, and this was how he chose to spend his final years. "I want to do something useful," he said. The traveller had an opportunity to visit the place once again, after twenty-five years. What he saw amazed him. He could not believe his eyes. The land was covered with a beautiful forest. Birds were singing, animals were playing, and wild flowers perfumed the air. A desert was turned into a forest-all because someone cared.
The Seed of Love
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Portent and prodigies are grown so frequent
That they have lost their name. Our fruitful Nile
Flowed ere the wonted season, with a torrent
So unexpected and so wondrous fierce
That the wild deluge overtook the haste
Even of the hinds that watched it : men and beasts
Were borne above the tops of trees that grew.
If the flowing of the river was unexpected so was its receding:
... with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward,
It slipped from underneath the scaly herd :
Here monstrous phocae panted on the shore;
Forsaken dolphins there with their broad tails
Lay lashing the departing waves; hard by 'em,
Sea-horses floundering in the slimy mud
Tossed up their heads and dashed the ooze about 'em.
Nay , there was, as he reports, an earthquake too:
Last night, between the hours of twelve and one,
In a lone aisle o' th' temple while I walked,
A whirlwind rose, that with a violent blast ,
Shook all the dome: the doors around me clapped;
The iron wicket that defends the vault
Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid
Burst open, and disclosed the mighty dead.
From out each monument, in order placed,
An armed ghost start up; the boy-king last
Reared his inglorious head. A peal of groans
Then followed, and a lamentable voice
Cried, 'Egypt is no more!'