Books (poetry)

When I was a young girl
I had a secret reading cove
up in the attic, soft feather
mattresses and a blanket
hidden behind faded yellow
curtains, place of perfection

The attic’s ladder, got pulled
down in secret, stealth with books
tiptoeing up, then rolling the ladder
silently back in it’s place, then
sneaking behind the curtains
into my own little world

In those books I discovered lands,
places of dreams, I vowed to travel
to never never land, the jungle, a
train station in London, the wood
of hundred acres where he lived,
my favorite character of all: Pooh

I had a bear like him, he still sits
above me, wearing that half smile
I still adore. I never called him
Pooh, that name was for the one bear
I got to cuddle in December, feeling
like the girl I was, giddy and cute

Now I am much older, I don’t
devour books like I did when
I was her, but every time I see
her books, I remember what
it felt like, hiding in the
sheer joy of reading books

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