Κοινότητα Αναγνωστών Βιβλίων - readers.gr

I believe you've heard of the clay spindle-wheel that hung, so many years ago, from the spindle of a distaff. One day, it decided it couldn't bear it anymore, and escaped through an open window... Well, that was the same night that it came to my bedroom. "I know eight beautiful stories", it sang, and then spun around in front of me, perfectly round and shining bright. I blew it a kiss and the spindle-wheel sparkled and flew up high above the clouds. But I saw it again. I came to my bedroom, eight evenings in a row. Every night, twirling round happily, it would tell me a...

I believe you've heard of the clay spindle-wheel that hung, so many years ago, from the spindle of a distaff. One day, it decided it couldn't bear it anymore, and escaped through an open window... Well, that was the same night that it came to my bedroom. "I know eight beautiful stories", it sang, and then spun around in front of me, perfectly round and shining bright. I blew it a kiss and the spindle-wheel sparkled and flew up high above the clouds. But I saw it again. I came to my bedroom, eight evenings in a row. Every night, twirling round happily, it would tell me a...

I believe you've heard of the clay spindle-wheel that hung, so many years ago, from the spindle of a distaff. One day, it decided it couldn't bear it anymore, and escaped through an open window... Well, that was the same night that it came to my bedroom. "I know eight beautiful stories", it sang, and then spun around in front of me, perfectly round and shining bright. I blew it a kiss and the spindle-wheel sparkled and flew up high above the clouds. But I saw it again. I came to my bedroom, eight evenings in a row. Every night, twirling round happily, it would tell me a...

I believe you've heard of the clay spindle-wheel that hung, so many years ago, from the spindle of a distaff. One day, it decided it couldn't bear it anymore, and escaped through an open window... Well, that was the same night that it came to my bedroom. "I know eight beautiful stories", it sang, and then spun around in front of me, perfectly round and shining bright. I blew it a kiss and the spindle-wheel sparkled and flew up high above the clouds. But I saw it again. I came to my bedroom, eight evenings in a row. Every night, twirling round happily, it would tell me a...