Sadly, O, sadly, the sweet bells of Baddeley
Played in their steeples when Robin was gone,
Killed by an arrow,
Shot by Cock Sparrow,
Out of a Maybush, fragrant and wan.
Grievedly, grievedly, tolled distant Shieveley,
When the Dwarfs laid poor Snow-white asleep on the hill,
Drowsed by an apple,
The Queen, sly and subtle,
Had cut with her knife on the blossomy sill.
by WALTER DE LA MARE (1873-1956)
Public Domain Poetry
He comes every evening.
He sits near my bed and reads tales. The terrible tales.
How the Wolf devours Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White eats the poisoned apple and the Cruel Giant swallows Tom Thumb… Every evening, he ruins my naive childish dreams about the Perfect World. He calls this ‘adaptation’ and ‘preparing for your adulthood’. And he leaves my room with a sense of accomplishment.
I cry… but not too long. I have a low level of adaptation… it’s written in my anamnesis, and I do believe in the power of written words. I just take a pen and start to correct every mistake… to repair the non-perfect, spoiled world.
Tom Thumb swallows cruel giants… Snow White hates apples… and Little Red Riding Hood devours wolves. That looks much better. I fall asleep with a smile… and with thoughts about this strange word… ‘hyperlexia’. It’s also written in my anamnesis. I don’t know what it means but I guess that it’s just a perfect name for one Beautiful Princess who steals the eggs of dragons…
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
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unbolt me 