STEPPING STONE
'Into my lair' said the spider to the fly, but no one
heard the laughter in the courtyard. Those are the
stories we float gamely and grim - the name of the
woman who caught me up in the yard was Maria,
that much I knew. Yet how fair is it ever to be captive
to a slew of discontents and wild complaints? 'The heat's
too cold, the cold's too hot; the water's dry and the humid's
not, the air is foul, I get their exhaust, the fan is broken, the
glass is cracked. Who's fault is that?' I listened, believing I
would try; and it wasn't a first attempt. Never should there
be a shallow to this giant lake. I retired long ago, from your
arched observance of complaint. This stepping stone, I am
so afraid, leads only to dank and fouling water.
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