An Ode to Words, Pages, and Books

The Media That Raised UsPoetry

The words called me to come to them,
“Come!” they called me, “Come!”
The pages were softer than silk, but crisper than ice
And if I had asked someone, they could have given me advice
For I would read all through the day
The almost tangible tale trembled as I tried to tear myself away
The pages I had yet to read, an ocean
My bookmark, a boat
I kept finding the pages in motion
And me reading what the author wrote
I could see the words in the book, some faded
I could hear the rustling of the adventure-laced pages
I could feel the spine stretch as it released its tale
I could smell the smell of the book, but it was dwindling, so frail
I could taste the smell of the book, if just for a moment
And I knew right then, in my life
Books would never meet an opponent

Marion Ivy is an 11-year-old from Louisville, Kentucky. She enjoys reading, baking, writing, modern dance, and traveling.

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