But, in whispers there was another story, buried in history. When no one was around, the old hunched-back woman spoke in dead voices.
There own beauty behind an old, ugly, broken tree. They came out, Raged and rose, Questioned and fought,
“After midnight when hearts were deep asleep, the women of the happy town, Hung there longings and desires in a very very old oak tree. They borrowed a leaf that looked like a smile and pasted on their withered lips. ” But the tree was so so old. One day it gave way. Thus remained no place again to mourn and hide. The story after that was tightly sealed and guarded. That the women just realized, They had nothing anymore to hide, What they hid was themselves,
12
And ?nally, Won a place under the sky of the Happy Town.
But no one knows this story. Because they buried it deeply, in history. Everyone only sang, The men worked. The women stayed at home. The men traveled. The women weaved the stories at nights. Everyone was so happy in the Happy Town.