(Image from http:1.bp.blogspot.com)Stories are told in ways
As numerous as heroes’ names
Sizes various as egos wandering
The best storytellers are mothers weaving tall tales
To children who imbibed their milk
In soothing tones of silenced cries, cooing contentment
The saddest sight is a widower
Who whistles in the lonely afternoon
Against the wind, sees his wife in whirlpools of dust
The happiest sound is a bird chirping
Who knows not it has wings
But sees people shuffle their feet
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