After eons and ages,
and hundreds of pages,
of rifling through the storybooks
Of all the little dramas, played out on stages
Of good versus evil, and the war therein wages
Of kings,goblins, golems and crooks
And nature's green beauty,of rivers and brooks
These beautiful stories, they remain, haunting memories
Of a night or a noon, spent in a cocoon
With a book in my hand, I could understand
My need to escape,to a world unknown
But now that i am older,now that i've grown
The need is still there, but the time is not
I'm afraid i've let my books go rot
