Who are you to test my virtues?
The impatient one bestowed with the wand and the wings and the power to turn humans into owls without hearing them or giving them a chance to see and learn from a mistake.
Who are you to write a moral at the end of each fable?
Why there need always be a postscript of virtues unmet and expected yet,
hanging at the end of a fable?
Can't one enjoy a story sometimes,
just once may be,
for its worth as entertainment,
for what it contains than it tells?
Go away, oh, all fairies who forgot to use their wands and wings to any good purpose or premise than turning gullible girls into owls and goblins.
Do you even know how it is to walk the earth without your fancy wings or bake a bread without a wand's aid?
Till you learn to be a human
trampling the pebbles and crunching the stones with food-morsel, leave us mortals to our earthly fate.
We don't need your boons, nor your curses.
Happy we are in our puny glums that won't go away like our greeds may some day.
But we don't vie or envy your wings or your wand to our feet or hand that allow us to stay grounded, tethered to our realities, harsh and unyielding at times as they may appear to be.
But they are ours. Part of who we are.
Real as our existence.
Not very melodious may our songs be always.
But they are ours to croon and swoon over
so long as we don't get turned into owls
by an unfair fairy with wand and wings.
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