There are loves that are inseparable, loves that never leave. Loves that can define us This much I do believe. I remember well my own first “love”. A Love I brought to bed. I brought along a flashlight too To discern the words Love said. When all my family was asleep from my pillow I’d retrieve My treasure from the Library And I’d begin to read. That was my first chapter book, A mystery, I recall. Of all the words I’ve read or writ It was the start of all. I like to find that book again and hold in one more time.- and in the touch and smell of it Recall a simpler time.
In my case it was "The Mystery of the Wooden Indian" by Elizabeth Holness in 1958