A PEACOCK spreading its gorgeous tail mocked a Crane that passed by,
ridiculing the ashen hue of its plumage and saying, “I am robed, like a
king, in gold and purple and all the colors of the rainbow; while you
have not a bit of color on your wings.” “True,” replied the Crane; “but
I soar to the heights of heaven and lift up my voice to the stars,
while you walk below, like a cock, among the birds of the dunghill.”
Fine feathers don’t make fine birds.