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Ode to My Books

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My books are mysterious.
They are portals
To another time and place.
They are sleuths
That show me hidden doorways
And shadowed alleyways.
My books are like geodes:
Their plain covers hide
The shining story within.
My books tell me tales that
Whisper of things that could be
And things that are.
My books are like soldiers
Stacked sideways in my bookshelves
Waiting patiently for me
To call them to their duty
And read them.
My books are a comfort
Wherever
And whenever
I happen
to
be.



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