I learned to wonder at a tender age, wandering through a wardrobe, to a lamppost in the snow.
I learned of courage on the walls of the deep while an elf and dwarf bickered in the face of a white wizard’s horde.
I wandered the dark streets a man must walk, with a troll, a werewolf and a lipstick-wearing dwarf, and much did I laugh there.
I learned good parenting from Atticus, as a Mockingbird was slain and a little about what’s right in the pages of the same.
I crossed great epic landscapes build of words in print, with a slinger of guns and his ka-tet I learned of doings and the done.
I learned of passion and love, from a moor top tale, of a house all alone, in a wuthering gale.
I love books…
I learned to be a good companion from a hobbit or two, a wizard or three, a brace of dwarfs and a walking tree.
I learned to dream counting of electric sheep, of Fahrenheit that paper burns, and hitchhiking through the stars in search of the question to an answer comprised of four and two.
I felt those shivers in the dark, that tingle down my spine from time spend with Pennywise and others that cause a fearful joyful frown.
I laughed and remember that still brings a smile I always found, when death SPEAKS and the wee free men are charging all around.
I fend my inner cynic of this watching world, when I learned from Winston’s brother as the daily hate is unfurled.
I wondered at Nemo, the captain, not the fish, and all those Never-where and Never-when and Oceans at the end of lanes
I love books…
In truth, however, I never could abide poetry…