A Fable

crook-roof

A woodcutter was working in the forest. He swung his axe without ceasing, for he was a proud man who did not believe in weariness.

Soon, he had felled every tree within reach until all that was left was The Ancient Giant. Generations of woodcutters had refrained from cutting this colossal tree, which had a girth the size of a moderate tower.

He felt no such qualm. Just as the sun set,  the mighty oak fell with  an enormous crash.

In its stump sat a curious little man, arms folded in consternation.

“You’ve made your bed,” he said.

 

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