The picture book my father bought and brought home from a business trip, I laid it in a carboard box, your name upon the packing slip, my name still written on the flap— a book too precious not to share for when your daughters fill your lap— dead-lettered in its box somewhere. As parcels under letters lie; or under leaves old years' debris remembering how they touched the sky, communing with the new year's seeds; and old selves lost to new ones made responding to the seasons' turn; so Beast lies dying in the glade unless—until—his love returns. Read out the story, then: She comes to cradle his beloved mane, and when she tells him of her love, the handsome Prince is whole again. The end.
This is so sweet! Beauty and the Beast is one of my favorite fairy tales — I have a little collection of picturebook versions.
Thank you! I highly recommend the Mayer, if you don't have it yet.