Books

Books

Standing up on dusty shelves bound in gold leaf glory,
Choose help yourself to poem, novel or short story,
Devouring every word, secure in their meaning,
Action filled verbs; adjectives inspired my dreaming.

Traveling the whole world around while ensconced in my room,
Experiencing Melville’s horror of Moby Dick’s doom.
Laughing at Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer and chuckling at Huck Finn,
Forgetting where I am, the weekday or time zone I am in.

Keats, Milton, Byron Shelley, Kipling or Poe,
I wish my pen could write such flowery prose.
“If,” the Raven, “Paradise Lost,” “Evermore,”
“To sleep,” “To Night,” “On Jordan’s Banks,” “Nevermore.”

And F. Scott’s Great Gatsby and Papa’s Old Man,
Thank you for sharing tales; I am your biggest fan.
Mickey Spillane’s Nick Spade and Parker’s Spencer private-eye,
Agatha Christie and Dashielle Hammett know who and why.

Dante’s Hell inferno burns reading Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey,
Cervantes’ character immortal, Man of La Mancha, Don Quixote,
I place a highly important value on time spent reading a good book,
Because, once finished, I regard the author with an understanding look.