To Be Born In A Duck's Nest,

There Was Once A Bundle Of Matches, And They Were Frightfully Proud Because Of Their High Origin. Their Family Tree, That Is To Say The Great Pine Tree Of Which They Were Each A Little Splinter, Had Been The Giant Of The Forest.

He Looked At The Little Maiden, And She Looked At Him; And He Felt That He Was Melting Away, But He Still Managed To Keep Himself Erect, Shouldering His Gun Bravely. A Door Was Suddenly Opened, The Draught Caught The Little Dancer And She Fluttered Like A Sylph, Straight Into The Fire, To The Soldier, Blazed Up And Was Gone! By This Time The Soldier Was Reduced To A Mere Lump, And When The Maid Took Away The Ashes Next Morning She Found Him, In The Shape Of A Small Tin Heart. All That Was Left Of The Dancer Was Her Spangle, And That Was Burnt As Black As A Coal.

We Haven't Yet Got Eyes That Can Gaze Into All The Splendour That God Has Created, But We Shall Get Them One Day; And That Will Be The Finest Fairy Tale Of All, For We Shall Be In It Ourselves.

Many, Many Steeples Would Have To Be Stacked One On Top Of Another To Reach From The Bottom To The Surface Of The Sea.

Being Born In A Duck Yard Does Not Matter, If Only You Are Hatched From A Swan's Egg.