굽히지 않은 참나무

The Boast on the Hill

On the edge of a wide valley, an ancient oak lifted its crown far above every neighbor. Its trunk was thick as a tower, and its roots gripped the hillside like iron fingers. Travelers who passed below often paused to admire its strength, and the oak heard their praise. Birds nested in its branches, and children carved their names into its bark, which only fed its pride. Slowly, over many quiet seasons, the tree grew as proud as it was tall. "Nothing in this valley can match me," it told the wind each morning.

Below the oak, near a slow and shining stream, grew a slender reed. The reed was thin, green, and easily moved by the smallest breeze. Whenever a gust swept across the water, the reed bowed low, then rose again without complaint.

The Oak's Scorn

One afternoon the oak looked down and noticed the reed swaying by the stream. "How foolish you appear," the oak called, laughing at the sight. "You bow to every passing breath, while I stand firm against them all."

The reed listened patiently before it answered the great tree in a calm and gentle voice. "I bend because I am small, and bending has kept me alive through many storms." Yet the reed felt no anger, for it had long ago made peace with its own smallness. The oak only scoffed, certain that true worth was measured by height and stubborn strength. "When trouble comes," it declared, "the strong remain, and the weak are swept away."