I remember being five,
Just learned how to read.
I barely got words right
But it kept my mom happy.

I didn’t like books,
They were scary to me.
But then I picked this one up,
From a shelf that was dusty.

And old leather cover,
Torn and abused.
This book was through war,
Through many boxes that moved.

I felt like Indiana Jones,
Discovering something new.
This book was so foreign,
Yet so close to my home.

I opened it up, peered at what’s inside,
Old pages, faded colors, letters that sighed.
I started reading the stories,
Escaping to worlds.

Where witches ate children,
Two brothers hunted for trolls.
There were turtles racing,
Foxes that schemed.

Big castles with princes,
Towers with wizards inside.
A genie, a prophet,
A tyrant to rule the land.

I was lost in those pages,
In the many worlds of dismay,
So colorful, so heavenly,
I think I shall open it today…