Читать книгу The Fragrant Minute for Every Day - Ruth Collie - Страница 8

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We were sitting near the fire (Oh! the birchwood flames were gold, and the birchwood flames were bold) and each spoke of her desire. There was Joyce, impetuous Joyce (Oh! the birchwood flames turned blue, and the birchwood bark burned through), as she spoke in thrilling voice, “I so wish I were a man (Oh! the birchwood flames flared high and the birch-logs seemed to sigh) then I'd travel for a span.”

Then another joined the throng (now the birch flames kept still, as if conquered by the will of this woman brave and strong). “Ah! my joy,” she said, “would be” (then the birch-log split in twain, showed its heart a-fire with pain), “to be turned into a tree. A tree with kindly graces, a tree that makes cool places for a traveller worn and weary of Life's desert road so dreary. Indeed, I'd love to be (said this much-loved friend to me) a comforting and shady, and a stately, wide-branched tree!”

Fifth Day