This Book

This book in my hand
Does not weigh me down
Nor spawn an encumbrance
To imagination.
It lifts me on wings to
Fly through the mirror
To magical shores
Of intense inspiration.

The yeoman in me craves
The bliss of blind whimsey,
Borne over oceans,
Shared in the sky to
Glide to adventures
Beyond sweeping eons,
Landing in who knows where,
When, how or why.

Leafing and leaping and
Launching through time
From the comfort and cozy of
My easy chair.
No matter the object
Of my fascination, this book…
This book will take me there.

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