Children scramble for blossoms in a garden where trees rain flowers, a scene that quickly turns competitive. The strongest and most skillful gather huge armfuls, leaving only stray petals for the weak. When a fussy tutor protests this unfairness, the father—a voice of calm, remorseless authority—dismisses the complaint. He argues that those who end up with the flowers deserve them simply because they are stronger, bolder, and shrewder. The tutor’s response, a bow and the cryptic line about displaced stars, drips with bitter irony. The speaker never openly condemns, but the mood is cold and unsettling. What sounds like a child’s story becomes a sharp, uncomfortable fable about power that calls itself natural and just, while quietly mocking any hope of mercy.
The trees in the garden rained flowers. — Summary
The trees in the garden rained flowers. Children ran there joyously. They gathered the flowers Each to himself. Now there were some Who gathered great heaps -- Having opportunity and skill -- Until, behold, only chance blossoms Remained for the feeble. Then a little spindling tutor Ran importantly to the father, crying: "Pray, come hither! See this unjust thing in your garden!" But when the father had surveyed, He admonished the tutor: "Not so, small sage! This thing is just. For, look you, Are not they who possess the flowers Stronger, bolder, shrewder Than they who have none? Why should the strong -- The beautiful strong -- Why should they not have the flowers?" Upon reflection, the tutor bowed to the ground, "My lord," he said, "The stars are displaced By this towering wisdom."