The Fowler and the Cicada
Long ago, on a hot summer day when the golden ears of wheat were swaying, a sweet joy was hiding among the green leaves. High in the branches of an old plane tree there lived a cheerful cicada. From morning until evening this tiny creature sang its finest songs to the forest. Its melodies travelled on the wind and gave deep peace to everyone who listened. But on the path near the forest walked a cunning fowler who hunted birds all day long.
When the fowler heard that strong and merry voice among the bushes, he stopped at once. Thinking that the sound came from a big and meaty bird, he opened his eyes with greed. He slowly prepared his sticky lime twigs and crept quietly towards the tree. The cicada, meanwhile, was sitting on a high leaf and celebrating the beauty of nature. With its sharp eyes it noticed the sticky traps in the fowler's hand and stopped its song. Just as the man was about to place his trap on the branch, the little creature jumped to a higher one. Looking down at the man, it asked, "What will you do with me if you catch me, fowler?"
The hunter looked up in surprise, and when he saw that the voice came from a tiny insect, he felt ashamed. The cicada smiled wisely and called out to the man. "I have no tasty meat, I only have a voice that brings joy to the summer heat." The fowler was greatly amazed to see that even a small insect was clever enough to understand his traps. With empty hands and a face full of shame, he gathered his twigs and went away. Trusting looks and sounds, and hunting for great profit everywhere, only brings a man shame. Not every bird that sings is good for the pot.