A crow flew to me, kept it’s distance
Such a proud creation
I saw it’s soul, envied it’s pride
But needed nothing it hadAn owl came to me, old and wise
Pierced right through my youth
I learned it’s ways, envied it’s sense
But needed nothing it hadA dove came to me, had no fear
It rested on my arm
I touched it’s calm, envied it’s love
But needed nothing it hadA swan of white, she came to me
The lake mirrored her beauty sweet
I kissed her neck, adored her grace
But needed nothing she could give

books and literature
Isaac Asimov’s “Fantasy” collection
I take issue with this volume, and not because they’re short stories and you’re bound to like some more than the others: they’re all delightful, with very few and negligible exceptions. No, my problem is curatorial: I take issue that instead of grouping all the






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