The winter is coming. The grasshopper takes his violin and to the foot of hill goes. There he meets a line of diligent ants, collecting food since the first spring bud trembled like a stuttering string. Playful along the seasons, the grasshopper thinks maybe he can earn some bread remnants by his artful performance. So he straightens his spine and demonstrates a show, which makes the work-line a big worshipping circle. The ants, never heard of music so enjoyable, are all enchanted and forget about their tasks. So he straightens his spine and demonstrates a show, which makes the work-line a big worshipping circle. The ants, never heard of music so enjoyable, are all enchanted and forget about their tasks. Notes after notes, and scores after scores, the grasshopper stops, when the world again starts; the ants finally come to themselves. Yet, regarding the grasshopper's request, the ants become vehement because the sun is sinking and it is the street artist's fault. Thus they pay teeth instead of bread, dissecting the artist for storage as the compensation for the day's lost labor. --

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