A poem:She harked a knock on the door,Faint and feeble at first,Grew resolute, and resounding,The man's pleading was terse,"Provide a parched pauperSome water, if you please!"He stood crippled by cold,Degraded by disease.She harked a knock on the door,Faint and feeble once more,Could barely hear his hungry cries,As stood submerged in snow...His sunken eyes stared at …
The Forgers of Fantasy 