Once upon a time there was an old poet, one of those right good old poets.
One evening, as he was sitting at home, there was a terrible storm going on outside; the rain was pouring down, but the old poet sat comfortably in his chimney-corner, where the fire was burning and the apples were roasting.
Sign in to unlock this title
Sign in to continue reading, it's free! As an unregistered user you can only read a little bit.
