Thursday, 5 March 2015


She sits
Enveloped by a chair
Too big for her
Armrests like bookends
She is the bookshelf.

She reads
Or at least pretends to
Words are just squiggles
Of fantasy or adventure
Genre is in her head.

She smiles
A feeling of importance
Knowing the knowledge
Of the world can be held
Within her tiny hands.

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