The soup with jonquils that's eaten at the fairies'
house, a dull little spoon gave me the recipe.

One evening it lured me under its raincoat. In the
dark, against its heart, a little light was living. A
weak little reddish flame, surrounded by a blue halo.

It's her -- I've understood it ever since -- she's who
hummed me the recipe.

Alas! My gasp was so strong that she died from it.

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