Books

The books rest gently on the pillow
Keen words and eager stories
Waiting to be fulfilled
The pages smell delicious
We try to keep them out of the sun
So the print is always new
Spines unbroken
Characters ready to play out their roles
We get lost in the magic
Time stands still as we savour the words
Alice skips and trips at my side
I was in the underground once she declares
But I wrote myself out
Maybe you can too
Steal some phrases
Pilfer some ideas
All just a white rabbit disappearing down the tunnel
We stack the books by the side of the bed
Wait patiently to reveal their magic.