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.