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A poetry book lay on a dusty old shelf,

Unopened, uncared for, and all by itself.

     He heard a voice saying: 'Well, this book can go!'

     And where would he go to?  I think that you know.

 

As if by pure magic, a little voice said:

'Don’t throw it away, I’ll read it instead,'

     And the child who had spoken was given the book

     And its covers were opened to have a quick look.

 

'Oh, a poetry book!  It’s just what I need!'

And his pages were turned with lightning speed:

     'Look!  Pictures of fairies, a dragon, a gnome,

      No, don’t give it away.  Let’s keep it at home.'

 

At night, before sleeping, each poem was read,

And the boy went to sleep with their words in his head,

    And these words filled his sleep with dreams that delight

     And took him to wonderland all through the night.

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Copyright on all my poems

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