Poor Fool Info

"It's going to fly again, Mrs. Gable," Silas would say, his eyes shining with a frantic, foolish light. "You'll see."

Silas was not a wicked man; he was simply a very poor fool. He lived in a cramped attic room that smelled of old paper and boiled cabbage, his only companions being a stack of overdue library books and a dream too large for his tiny existence. Silas dreamed of being a collector. Not of stamps or coins, but of lost things—buttons, stray keys, bits of string, and secrets dropped on the sidewalk. Poor Fool

One Tuesday, Silas found a small, tarnished silver bird lying in the gutter. It was broken, one wing bent awkwardly, but to Silas, it was a treasure. He didn't see the rust; he saw the exquisite craftsmanship. "It's going to fly again, Mrs

Finally, the day arrived. The bird was gleaming, the wing perfectly straight. Silas sat on his fire escape, the setting sun catching the silver. He believed, with all the power of his foolish heart, that the bird would take flight. He opened his hand. He lived in a cramped attic room that

His neighbor, Mrs. Gable, a stern woman with a sharp eye, scolded him. "Silas, you're looking like a ghost. That bird isn't worth a hot meal."

Silas froze. He didn't cry. He just stared at his empty, polished hand.