THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A DONKEY
I am a donkey. I was
born in the house of potter. I played about on the dunghills, till I was seven
months old. Then, one day, he loaded fifty pots on my back and took me to the
market. My ribs began to ache. I tried to sit for a while. But he beat me with
the thick stick, and I had to move on. In fact I was too weak to serve him. So
he sold me to a washer man. My new master was equally cruel and hard-hearted.
He also felt me to be too weak to be of any service to him. He, therefore, sold
me to a sweeper. Now I have to carry heaps filth from one place to another.
This life is very pitiable, and I long for death!
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