Twas on that storey,
where we always were,
after long hours of fire blowing,
our folktales story,
told to infants there,
you know what rags we wore,
it was always oil smeared,
and with nature's air,
we would recite those songs,
that were taught us so long,
knowing that every of our glory,
would come with so much joy,
but not without toil.
©bella_fish
B