The sweet leather smell, brings dreams to my mind
of treasures and islands, and love so divine.
Remembering Austen, Bronte, Dickens, Carroll and Suess
Their words were so focused, their stories, bits of truth.
Society lies. Current styles are just snippets in time.
Ugly, silly, dark stormy nights, humanity grieves and repeats the lies.
Over and over, here we go again, recycling fashions, battling wars,
someone gets dead, someone gets more, but wealth is not the all of import.
The ingredients for good story are love, money and/or lack of these.
The writer writes with flourish, as protagonist falls to their knees.
A hero arises, be it male or female, a villain’s destroyed, by an unknown skill.
Words flow onto pages, be it computer, typewriter or paper and quill.
Give me my books for I cannot deny, I’m addicted to story,
Reading, writing and applying those words to my life.