The little door creaks with the pain,
And the broom sweeps.”
“Then,” said the ashes, “I will burn furiously.” Now, next the ashes there grew a tree, which asked: “Little heap, why do you burn?”
“Because,” was the reply:
“The little Spider’s scalt herself,
And the Flea weeps;
The little door creaks with the pain,
And the broom sweeps;
The little cart runs on so fast,”—
Thereupon the tree cried, “I will shake myself!” and went on shaking till all its leaves fell off.