Under your cover
I find a new world
In which I get lost
And see a story unfold.
Page by page.
Line by line.
My imagination soars
Into a world besides mine.
My book, my story,
My wonderful novel,
You set my mind free
To wonder and marvel.
You come in many forms:
Fantasy, fact, and fiction.
Drawing readers in
Feeding their addiction.
You’ve been around for many years
And for many more you’ll stay.
For books tell a story of the mind,
Letting authors express what they can’t say.
Your words flow together
Like water in a stream.
Flow as smooth as glass,
Sometimes heavenly, so it seems.
You speak to me
Though messages you send.
The only bad thing is,
Like always, there’s “The End”.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC
Under your cover
I find a new world
In which I get lost
And see a story unfold.
Page by page.
Line by line.
My imagination soars
Into a world besides mine.
My book, my story,
My wonderful novel,
You set my mind free
To wonder and marvel.
You come in many forms:
Fantasy, fact, and fiction.
Drawing readers in
Feeding their addiction.
You’ve been around for many years
And for many more you’ll stay.
For books tell a story of the mind,
Letting authors express what they can’t say.
Your words flow together
Like water in a stream.
Flow as smooth as glass,
Sometimes heavenly, so it seems.
You speak to me
Though messages you send.
The only bad thing is,
Like always, there’s “The End”.