"What is your age
upon this earth?" asked the tinkerers of the old woman. "My skin is parched and dry, and
cannot feel the passing of the seasons, so I cannot know." answered she unto the
tinkerers. "She came into this world over a hundred and twenty season ago as men count the
years." said the worker of the house of the infirm who are soon to die. "When came you unto
this place?" asked the thinkers. "I have been here longer than any other, but as I am blind I
cannot see the days to know the time." answered she. "She has been here for
more than eighty winters as men count the years," said the worker unto the thinkers. "On
what fare subsist you, from day unto day?" asked the thinkers and tinkerers together. "As my
palate is old and by scent of smell diminished to nought," said she, "I cannot know nor can I care on what
fare my life continues." The thinkers and tinkerers agreed among themselves that here was
indeed a piteous creature, who could barely hear all of the sounds of the world, who lived in darkness, and
had no pleasure from food. She had little care from the workers in the place, and had no
future. Surely, said they, she lives also in the worst of surroundings, and cannot be
happy. So, the thinkers and tinkerers decided among them to leave her roses three, and go
their way unto comfort and luxury to discuss what was wrong and what was right with their machines and
theories of why the men of the world receive joy, and the manner in which the live. So the
flowers were placed in her lap, and the thinkers and tinkerers made as if to leave that home for the infirm
and the sick unto the point of death.
"What are these that have been put near me?" asked the old
woman. Answered the yougest of the thinkers, "They are roses to brighten your
life." "Push my bed, for it has wheels," said she, "unto the bed of he who is by the window
and losing his sight." So the youngest of the thinkers pushed her bed, and light it was with
nought but soiled sheets and her frail body upon it, unto the man who was by the window and becoming
blind. "Here is a rose, given unto you." said the old woman. "From whom is this
yellow rose, which can fill my dimming eyes with last to be seen beauty?" asked he to whom the rose was
given. "It is from He who calls the sun in the morning every day, and I give it to you, for I
cannot see it in my blindness." answered the old woman.
"Push my bed now unto the woman in the corner, whose hearing leaves her."
said the old woman, and the youngest of the thinkers obeyed her again, and pushed her bed unto the
corner, where a piteous woman lay. "Here is a rose, given unto you." said the old woman,
again.