Your
tiny finger struggles, falters,
weary
from its climb
up
undeciphered hieroglyphs.
I urge
you on.
You
slowly trace the unfamiliar shapes,
venture
mouthed syllables
(soundlessly
withdrawn)
whilst
loudly-coloured pictures
tempt
and draw your eyes,
which
flit like sparkling butterflies
landing
on
familiar ground,
safe
from the baffling sea of words.
...
waves her enchanted wand
You’re
holding magic in your hands.
This
book’s your spell to conjure distant lands,
sights
as yet unseen;
A hidden
portal
bidding you
walk through to
worlds which might have been;
A
hallowed place
where
minds immortal gather
and treat you as their queen.
Dad, may
I go and play?
I smile.
Go, my love. You’ll understand one day.
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