White sunlight peaks above the windowsill
Onto the pages of the book she drinks.
In breathless reverie she sits until
The story's close--her heart within her sinks.
What beauty lies upon the vellum page,
What mystery and secrets may unveil
Themselves to her parched soul in her gilt cage.
Imagination in her now sets sail.
Narnia, Paris, Camelot entwine
Seductive threads around her wand'ring soul,
She dreams of knights and elves and courtiers fine,
Envisions fairies dancing on the knoll.
And as she finds the ending cause to mourn
A poet's soul within her chest is born.
